


the lean and hungry type

by superheroau



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Blood and Gore, F/F, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-01-16 06:17:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 47,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21266432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superheroau/pseuds/superheroau
Summary: wendy agrees to spend a year with the monster that saves her life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> happy spooky season to anyone reading!  
[ [crossposted on AFF] ](https://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1421347/the-lean-and-hungry-type)

**january **

being alone at night never gets any easier.

wendy’s been on the night shift for longer than she’d like to admit at this point, so she should be used to it, but it’s never quite settled for her. something is always uncomfortable, preventing her from being totally at ease. usually that something is the itchy collar of her white and green work polo, but often, it’s also how unsettling the place can be. 

there’s something to be said for the atmosphere of a convenience store-slash-gas station in the middle of nowhere. without anyone else around everything feels a little haunted, just empty parking spaces and a few empty aisles of snacks caging wendy into her little corner behind the counter.

she doesn’t get very many regulars out here. even though she’s never been the best with names and faces, she tends to remember anyone who comes in more than once or twice- one person in particular.

this girl has been coming in every few weeks or so. she’ll take her time, shuffling slowly through the aisles, and come back with sweets. honeyed granola bars, packets of candy, little pastries in plastic packaging. 

there’s something off-putting about her. maybe it’s how sharp her teeth seem to be. but surely that’s nothing more than a trick of the store’s too-bright lights, and wendy’s sleep-deprived eyes.

her smile is still pretty, either way.

she tends to look a little tired when she comes by. her skin is a little too pale, seems to be stretched a little too thinly over her face. but even then, she still has a smile just for wendy. that’s the kind of thing that makes someone memorable.

her name is joy. she’d told wendy as much a month ago, while she was paying for a handful of lollipops. had unwrapped a cherry-flavored one and stuck it in her mouth for a moment before pulling it out slowly, full lips clinging lewdly to the glistening candy.

she had grinned as wendy’s eyes helplessly followed the motion. licked her lips, and told her _see you around._

she actually hasn’t seen joy around since then. the lack of her is almost upsetting- wendy treasures the little moments the two of them share. they’re so nice to mentally replay on boring nights like this one.

people aren’t exactly out on nighttime road trips in the first few weeks of the year, too busy recovering from new year’s parties or escaping from family. wendy’s company for the last few days has just been some exhausted truckers and her phone.

the solitary time is kind of why she even took this job in the first place, but it becomes so _mind-numbing_ without even one person coming by the whole night_._ even simple thoughts start to feel fuzzy, grinding themselves to a useless halt.

tonight, it’s to the point that she actually perks up once she spots a car pulling into the parking lot. a rather sickly-looking man walks in, face damp with sweat as he wobbles his way through the door. 

it’s hard to tell if he’s on drugs or just incredibly anxious. could be either, really, considering he’s walking into an isolated convenience store at 1:30 in the morning.

it’s best not to bother such customers unless they approach her first, so wendy simply watches him in silence, letting out a quiet breath of relief once another pair of headlights appears outside.

while the man scuttles away into the bathroom, wendy’s eyes widen as she spots joy’s familiar figure shouldering her way through the door. 

“hi,” she starts, trying to sound welcoming, but goes ignored. the other girl just stalks past her, her gaunt face drawn tight with some intense preoccupation, and barges right on into the restroom. 

the _men’s_ restroom.

wendy frowns, only to startle at an indistinct shout from inside and muffled clattering, obvious signs of a struggle.

she hesitates for a second, but during that second she thinks about joy. nice joy, and her pretty, stretched-thin smile. 

the least she can do is make sure she’s okay.

the bathroom is small, without much room to move. wendy is confronted with everything from the second she edges through the door to peek inside, narrowly dodging something that flails directly at her face.

then there’s a loud sound and the sound of shattering glass, the unmistakable impact of a gunshot into the ceiling lights, and before wendy can react, another _crack_ and a white-hot spear of pain straight through her gut.

her tolerance for pain has never been very high. she practically starts tearing up when she so much as smacks her knee into a table. so, taking a bullet to the stomach feels almost indescribable. the worst pain she’s ever experienced in her life, multiplied by a thousand.

she crumples instantly, sagging back against the wall and sinking down to the ground.

there are sounds afterwards, as her heavy eyelids start to fall shut. wet and ragged noises that she doesn’t understand, and doesn’t think she wants to.

when wendy next comes to, it’s to silence and darkness. she can’t see a thing, but her clothes feel cold and damp against the angry ball of pain knotted in her belly. 

right. she’s been shot.

her lips are burning for some reason, like she’s just eaten something spicy. absently, she tries to wet them with her tongue, only to be met with the coppery taste of blood.

she lets out a wet, pained cough. the sound is far too loud as it echoes off the walls around her- she must still be in the store’s tiny bathroom.

wendy twitches. lifting her head feels like trying to move a thousand pounds, and her hazy mind only short-circuits further when she forces a hand under her shirt and can’t find the hole that’s been blown in her body.

there seem to be lights near her, though, just a few feet away. she tries to focus on them instead. as she makes the decision, they disappear for a second, and she almost wonders if she’s just imagining them on her deathbed, but everything thankfully comes into focus again.

and then her stomach drops, because they’re not lights.

they’re _eyes_.

the orbs staring down at her are the ruddy orange of autumn leaves, pupils slitted like a cat’s, and send an icy wave of fear down her spine. somehow, instinctively- down to her very bones- wendy knows they belong to a predator. 

when one of the fluorescent ceiling lights finally flickers back on, the baleful gaze disappears. in its place is something even more startling.

joy.

but different. she looks different, and it’s not just the thick layer of red splattered all over her, looking almost like a second skin.

even under the harsh white light, she’s startlingly beautiful. glowing. radiant. whatever other words you could possibly imagine. wendy actually feels her jaw drop stupidly at the sight.

she had thought joy was pretty before, but this is unbelievable. how did she become so much healthier so damn fast?

and why is she looking at her like that?

joy’s eyes, despite their normal, human brown, are still every bit as disquieting as the animalistic pair from moments ago. a fire is in them that was never there before.

what it is, wendy can’t say. it makes her look away, hackles rising at the feeling of being eyed like prey, but a different part of her is strangely enthralled. wants to gaze into it further, more deeply, until it swallows her whole.

joy holds her arm out, sticky and dripping crimson, and wendy takes it, the other girl’s grip strong and grounding as she pulls her up. she manages to stay on her feet without falling over, head lolling around weakly as she does her best to look around the room.

everything is a mess. there’s bits of glass everywhere from the shot-out light, and… blood. all over the room. streaked along the walls, pooled thickly on the tile. dark chunks of something scattered through it.

wendy swings her gaze back over to where she was just sitting, and stares blankly at the bullet lodged in the wall, framed by a dark smear that drags all the way down to the floor. 

no doubt, there’s a matching stain running along the back of her shirt.

the man seems to be out of the picture now. wendy can see what looks like his body on the floor. part of it is hidden by the walls of the handicapped stall, but the limbs are splayed out unnervingly, like a puppet with its strings cut, strange and twisted.

it looks… wrung out. what was once a person, wrung out like a towel. 

a thought occurs to her. she turns to joy with a trembling, questioning look.

“did you kill him?” she says faintly. 

she can’t hide her flinch when joy brings a red, red hand up to her face, but all that touches her is one blood-slick finger, held meaningfully against her lips.

she’s _shushing_ her. 

“go home, wendy.”

“b-but- ”

“go home.”

wendy goes home.

what else can she do, really.

she washes her face and hands off in the bathroom sink, watches the red water swirl down the drain, and heads for where her car is parked outside.

  


wendy never looks back at the store once the whole drive home, not even chancing a single glance into any of her mirrors as she hunches over the wheel, but she can still feel those orange eyes burning into her back all the way to her run-down apartment. 

it’s a miracle she doesn’t crash, even on the dark and deserted streets.

getting inside somehow manages to be the most terrifying moment of the night. it’s not like her neighbors pay attention to her that much, especially at this hour, but still. any second, she expects someone to pop out of the shadows and say they’ve called the police on her, pointing accusing fingers at her bloody work polo.

eventually, after a painfully long time fumbling with her key and glancing furtively over her shoulder, she manages to unlock the door.

she makes for the bathroom first. hesitates for a moment in the dark doorway, peering in at the reflection of her face in the mirror, shrouded in shadows. 

there’s no way that she’ll like what she sees, whatever it may be. best to get it over with.

she flips the light on.

as it turns out, wendy, post-murder, is not so different from wendy, pre-murder- minus the bloodstains. it’s a relief. she’s not sure what she would have done if she hadn’t recognized the person in her reflection.

but there’s one thing that has wendy frowning, stepping closer to the mirror. raising a disbelieving hand up to her face.

it looks like lipstick. she could almost convince herself that it’s lipstick, if she didn’t know any better. but she knows perfectly well what really makes up the dried-up red on her lips, smeared haphazardly over her mouth the way only another mouth could have done.

“that’s yours,” she says aloud. 

the words aren’t convincing in the slightest.

  
  


the morning is bland and gray when wendy wakes up, the sun barely even risen. there’s a sound of shattering glass outside her room, though, that has her body kicking into full gear immediately. 

she sits up too fast, intent on scrambling out of bed, and tumbles heavily onto the floor instead. 

blinding pain explodes in her abdomen as she groans, the door swinging open while she’s still defenseless and sprawled on her back.

a second later, a familiar, gorgeous face is looking down at her.

oh, god. this is it. this is the moment that she dies. cruelly, messily, unceremoniously-

wendy’s frenzied, half-conscious thoughts are interrupted when joy crouches down at her side, bringing a finger up to prod at the hollow of her throat.

“you’ve got something of mine, wendy.” 

even the mere brush of her fingertip against wendy’s skin blazes hotly. the touch has an unnatural heat swelling up in her, unfurling into the rest of her body and burning away the fog over her mind.

while she shudders, the odd warmth shooting all the way down to her fingertips, her stomach turns at the idea of some piece of joy _inside_ her. nestled right in the dip between her collarbones, like a parasite only centimeters from her heart.

“you can have it,” she grits out, coming back to herself as the sensation fades. “won’t- won’t stop you.” 

“but then this would all be a waste.” joy lets out a heavy sigh. “me and my impulse decisions.”

“i don’t understand,” wendy says.

“i gave you a gift, silly.” the smile joy flashes her is a little terrifying, so uncannily sharp it verges on feral. “the gift of life. it’ll take a while before you can survive without it.”

wendy pales as the words sink in. “you’re saying if you take it back, whatever it is, i’ll die?”

“consider it your life support after that gut shot.” joy wrinkles her nose. “unfortunately, i’m rather attached to it. so,” she continues, “what i’m saying is, i think you’ll need to come with me.”

“_what?_”

“for something so important…” joy hums in mock thoughtfulness, ignoring her. “yes. one year of your time should do, don’t you think?”

“i thought i dreamed you,” wendy says thickly. “i- i thought it might have been a nightmare.”

when joy grabs the hem of her shirt and yanks it up, she almost screams, twitching away, but all the girl does is motion at the now-bared skin of her tummy.

“looks real enough to me,” she says matter-of-factly, and wendy’s eyes follow her pointed finger right to the center of her own stomach.

she just stares, for a while, at the wound that almost claimed her life. 

what remains of it, anyway. 

a bullet hole should be there, yet in its place there’s only a massive, ugly patch of scar tissue, as if it’s been cauterized by a hot poker. the warped skin feels raw and uncomfortable, heat pulsing against the cool air.

“what the hell,” wendy mumbles.

“i even called in my last favor last night to get rid of the mess. that means i’m all out of free cleanups up my sleeve.” joy shakes her head, releasing wendy’s shirt. “all that trouble to wipe every drop of blood off your slate. i’m hopeless.”

“b-but, i don’t have anything to give you.” wendy’s lower lip quivers. “please don’t kill m- ”

“your possessions don’t matter to me.” joy pats her arm. “just you. you come with me, wendy, and you won’t have anything to worry about.”

_just you._ there’s a strange gravity to the words. a hair-thin crack in joy’s sleek, predatory persona.

for the first time, wendy wonders if her little workplace crush was entirely one-sided.

“for a year, right? that’s what you said.” she bites her lip. “that’s a long time.”

“you’d be surprised how fast a year goes by.”

“what if i say no?”

“i can’t leave you alone with my little present,” joy scolds. “either you come with me, or i stay with you. you’ve got to pick one.”

her voice is light and playful, but there’s steel just behind it that bodes no argument- an edge that says _if you run, i’ll find you_, in no uncertain terms.

her waiting stare is boring into her in a way that demands a response, so wendy forces herself to look up into it again.

after a moment, she finds herself wishing nothing was visible behind it. it would almost be better if there was an alien emptiness there, too featureless for any human being to latch onto. then she would probably say something sensible. the right thing.

but there’s nothing for her here. she knows that. and joy’s eyes, the window to whatever is inside her, soul or not, are so _alive._ full of promise, of temptation- dancing, flickering flames.

“i’ll come with you,” wendy says, and joy’s sharp smile feels like the sealing of her fate.

  
  


**february**

“aren’t you hungry?”

“what?”

“i was just wondering.” wendy fidgets where she’s propped up on pillows at the head of her bed, gritting her teeth at her body’s sharp protest. “i’ve never seen you eat anything you get.”

“because it’s for you.” joy sets something down on her lap- a warm paper bag stamped with a fast food chain logo. wendy can feel her mouth watering despite herself at the scents wafting from it. “now eat.”

as her mysterious captor stalks out of their room once more, wendy sighs and resigns herself to breakfast.

tagging along with joy has felt less like getting kidnapped, and more like she’s some kind of invalid that joy snatched from a hospital. someone who needs to be fed, and checked on to make sure she doesn’t die, but that’s about it, really.

after that morning, joy had driven them both to a cheap motel a long way from the convenience store, or anywhere else that wendy knows, and then they just… 

stayed there.

they coexist. no threats, no cat-and-mouse mind games to toy with her. 

wendy’s spent the weeks staring at nature documentaries on the grainy motel TV, and watching joy’s strangely radiant face once again become as drawn and tight as she’s used to seeing it.

now, up close, wendy can see the full decline. how the color slowly drains from joy’s face, everything slowly fading, from the soft glow of her skin to the sureness in her every move. the gentle curves and softened edges of her have worn down, starving animal beginning to peer out from behind pretty girl. 

(she didn’t stop being beautiful or anything, though. it’s just a different kind of beauty now. like a blade you might cut yourself admiring, if you aren’t too careful.)

it’s a little hard to imagine why joy would spirit her away like this if she was in such poor health. 

perhaps the two of them were simply meant to be sickly together.

her abdomen still hurts. wendy realizes now that she never appreciated just how much she’s had to use the muscles there. even when she just wants to get out of bed, the whole area aches and swells with pain, making her grit her teeth, body locking up.

so it’s pretty much bed rest for her at this point. no great escapes back to her normal life.

joy seems to frequent pharmacies, constantly presenting her with burn cream to soothe the strangely scarred and angry skin of her belly. why or how a gunshot wound would ever bloom into burns, wendy doesn’t know, but she tends to it obediently anyway. it’s not like much else in her life is making any sense at this point, least of all who she’s stuck living it with.

she’s not sure what to make of joy. the girl is always watching her, gaze somewhere between attentive and longing, and she takes every opportunity to say wendy’s name, voice sounding almost lovesick. 

she never touches her, though. never pushes her limits. the most she does is try to tease.

it would almost be endearing, if it weren’t for how she’s definitely not human. and probably a serial killer.

that much seems clear from how the inside of her car is wrapped up almost entirely in plastic, and from the switchblade wendy found stowed in the glove compartment. the backseats being crowded by plastic cans of disinfecting wipes doesn’t help to convince her otherwise.

there was also the whole “staring hungrily at her while covered in blood” thing. no way she could just forget that.

but despite all of that, joy saved her when she didn’t have to. brought her back from the brink of death. miraculously healed her.

even if she’s actually a psychopathic demon, wendy thinks that still has to count for something.

  


“hey.”

only a drowsy, half-waking snuffle comes in response.

“hellooo- ”

“oh _fuck- _”

“- we’re leaving, get your things- ”

“- jesus _fucking_ christ- ”

“- and get in the car, alright?”

a beat passes.

“you know, i think that’s the first time i’ve ever heard you curse.”

  
  


of course, the year they’re meant to spend together couldn’t have been that easy. 

wendy becomes intensely aware of that once she finds herself on the side of a dark street at half past midnight. joy had insisted on making this drive now, navigating to an unassuming-looking house far from the center of town.

her mind is fuzzy, eyes ragged from exhaustion, and it had been absolutely terrifying to wake up to joy’s silhouette looming over her, but wendy isn’t about to complain and risk attracting her ire.

she doesn’t turn her head to watch as joy slinks out of the car and towards the house. she has no idea why they’re here, but out of sight, out of mind, and all that. what she doesn’t know shouldn’t hurt her.

still, she can’t shake the feeling that something is distinctly wrong. joy is gone for a while, yet no lights turn on inside the dark house. nobody stirs inside. the whole street is deadly silent- the utter quiet of a forest with a predator passing through. 

wendy lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding once joy gets back into the car again, sliding into her seat and settling in with a huff. everything almost seems as normal as when she’d left.

that illusion shatters when wendy notices that she suddenly looks much, _much_ messier. 

for a few seconds, her mouth hangs open, working silently. 

“you’re very bloody,” she finally manages, voice dazed. 

joy only gives her a lazy shrug. the movement crinkles the plastic sheeting under her, leaving dark smears behind.

“don’t worry about it,” she says, reaching over to the backseat. “not your problem.”

the sight is gruesome but familiar. there’s dark, rich blood smearing the entire lower half of joy’s face, covering her red, red hands, blooming in stains around the collar of her shirt and splattered down her chest. 

she looks just like she did that night in the store. and just like that night, wendy is certain none of the blood that covers joy is her own. not even a drop.

with a clear head and no bullet in her stomach, wendy can even see the bigger picture. how it’s strange that the blood seems to be concentrated in such particular places. as if it dripped down from her mouth. 

almost like-

things start to click into place. joy’s wilting beauty, the predatory grace to her padding steps. the wrung-out ruins of the man in the convenience store.

“did you eat them,” wendy says without thinking, “whoever was in that house,” and then bites down on her tongue until the pain reduces her thoughts to empty static.

joy gives her a probing look as she wipes her hands clean, one which could be saying any number of dangerous things. all she actually does, though, is nod. 

and that’s it. that’s all they say to each other on the matter. 

wendy can taste a little bit of blood in her mouth.

there are a number of things her brain tells her to do as joy drives them away from the house. run. scream. throw up, maybe, considering she’s locked in a car with a fucking cannibal only inches away from her. 

once they pull into a rest stop about an hour away, joy disappears into it to clean up until she’s passable for a sane human being. wendy finally looks away from the window and down at her hands. they’ve been gripping the fabric of her pants, white-knuckled, the entire time.

everyone thinks they’re acquainted with fear. after all, nobody can go forever without running into what they’re scared of. the little terrors in life always find you eventually. 

as it turns out, though, all of that pales in comparison to the real thing.

real fear, genuine, earnest fear for your life, is a rare and different breed. it puts something new in charge, that fabled “lizard brain” locking everything into a stranglehold but your primal instincts. 

like, for example, the overwhelming and all-encompassing phobia of being eaten.

the resolve to act crystallizes in a second. wendy watches as her body moves almost without her control, opening the glove compartment to stow the little knife in it in her pocket. 

even through her clothes, it feels icy cold against her. like it’s sapping away at her soul.

  


their next motel room is where it happens. 

having… eaten, after such a long time, seems to put joy at ease. back to being flawless once more, she sprawls out on one of the beds once she’s out of the shower, not looking bothered by her nice, filling dinner having consisted of human being. 

wendy’s never tried to escape in joy’s rare moments of dozing off. she has no doubt in her mind that joy, whatever she is, would track her down in minutes. 

but maybe that means she should try something a little different.

wendy takes a moment to look at joy as she stands over her, their positions from earlier in the night reversed. 

she looks soft this way, eyes shut in contentment, the very picture of comfort. the whole scene makes her seem innocent, almost like a normal girl. but she isn’t. she can’t be.

she killed that man in the convenience store. she killed whoever lived in that house. probably had to floss human flesh out of her teeth after eating them both. no way in hell does wendy want to be next.

before the fear at the back of her mind can catch up to her body, she’s already jabbing the knife down, frigid fear numbing her body’s intense protest at the hard motion. her eyes are squeezed shut by the time it strikes true, sinking thickly and unpleasantly into flesh. 

afterwards, it seems as if everything goes still and placid. whatever had urged her to kill or be killed melts away, like an ice cube under the sun.

instead, wendy’s mind is completely and utterly blank, but for a neverending scream of _holy shit you actually killed her, you killed someone you stabbed her in the throat-_

a hand is wrapped around her wrist. 

for a second, wendy thinks she’s imagined it in the throes of her moral crisis. but the palm of it is warm, the skin soft and human, and then it _moves_, fingers flexing to grip her with renewed strength. the strength of someone who is definitely not dead.

her eyes snap open as that hand guides her arm slowly, gently almost, so that the knife still clutched tightly in her hand slides out of joy’s throat. the sound is slick, painful. she knows she will never forget it.

the small blade had been completely embedded, enough to end any normal person’s life. but as wendy watches, joy’s blood dripping from her fingers, the wound it left closes before her very eyes.

the knife falls quietly to the carpeted floor.

joy’s blood is bizarrely normal. just warm liquid, like what wendy can feel rushing through her right now. it doesn’t burn her, or leave her feeling funny. all it does is stain the crisp bedsheets under joy’s head an abrasively bright red.

it’s not fair that it’s so familiar. wendy’s mind recoils at the idea that joy isn’t just a cruel monster in a poor human costume. if she isn’t, then wendy basically just tried to kill a person. she wasn’t even really provoked. or actively threatened, for that matter. 

that’s very different from fighting back against some_thing_, in self defense.

she doesn’t think she’d feel bad about doing it, though, if it let her live another day. the realization sickens her, takes what she thinks of herself and gives it a vicious, disquieting shake.

joy is sitting up now. staring at her with wide and earnest eyes, still gripping her tightly.

“why did you do that?”

joy hasn’t touched her, skin against skin, for a good month. even now, it still sends that strange heat rolling out through her. wendy shivers.

“let go of me,” she says, voice uneven, “or i’ll scream.”

the hand around her wrist lets go instantly.

“most people would have just ran away! but not you. of course you wouldn’t.” joy laughs. the sound is bright with a sharp edge to it, like a shard of stained glass. “you and i really aren’t so different, after all.”

“i-i’m not like you,” wendy protests weakly. “i’m not- ”

“a killer?” joy supplies, looking amused, and wendy falls silent. 

after what she just did, she doesn’t really have the right to disagree.

“i know you’re a good person,” joy tells her. “you’re a nice girl. i like that you’re a nice girl. so i’m sorry we’re getting off on the wrong foot.”

wendy blinks nervously, lashes fluttering too fast.

“you’re… sorry?”

“you were scared, weren’t you? felt backed into a corner.” joy pouts, as if that’s just positively awful. “even nice girls will fight for their lives if they have to, wendy. i know that.”

“are you going to kill me?” wendy says, voice a reedy and fearful warble. “like that man, in the store?” 

joy looks at her like she’s grown two heads.

“if the plan was to eat you, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

her voice is so light and casual. _obviously_, it says, _duh. how silly of you to think otherwise._

wendy purses her lips.

“right.”

“the world’s not my buffet. i feed on what i do out of necessity.” joy’s lips quirk up wryly. “if i didn’t, i’d wither to dust. or start feasting on innocents. i’m not the feasting on innocents type.”

“what is that supposed to mean?”

“do you know what that man did?” joy continues, ignoring her. “the one in that house, he hit his girlfriend. and his last girlfriend. and the one before that. and the one in the store, he was a killer, serial. snatched five working girls off the street before he tried to skip town.”

“wh- ”

“i do the world a service. you aren’t going to tell me it’d be better to leave them around, are you? so they can keep messing up more lives?”

wendy doesn’t say anything- tries, with a bit of desperation, to see any other way this piece can fit into the puzzle of her world. 

but it’s unnervingly hard to argue against it.

“if it’s proof of it that you want,” joy says, cutting through her thoughts, “i’ve got that in spades.”

“i just don’t get it.” wendy wrings her hands, for lack of anything better to do with them. blood is starting to dry on her fingers, crusty and itching. “even if they’re- bad, or _evil_, how can you live with doing that? _eating_ people?”

“i’m an animal, wendy.” joy smiles, far too easily. “i hunt other animals. i live on them. that’s all there is to it.”

it makes sense, in an uncomfortable way. like a round peg jammed into a square hole. it shouldn’t be there, in what wendy likes to think is her straight-laced and normal mind, but it can still fit. 

after all, that’s what predators do, isn’t it? they eliminate the weak and the infirm, the ill-fitting of the population. they keep the ecosystem healthy.

maybe she really has been watching too much animal planet lately.

“maybe it’s hard for you,” joy finally says. “to empathize. but if you could feel what i do, you’d understand in a second why i do it. the _hunger._” her face twists with displeasure. “the emptiness.”

“joy.” wendy swallows, the coil of dread in her stomach beginning to loosen in a way she doesn’t understand. “what kind of animal are you, exactly?”

there’s a pause, in which they hold each other’s gazes. it feels almost physical, thin threads of connection, acknowledgement of each other, finally beginning to stretch between them.

joy smiles, teasing. and just the slightest bit shy.

“i thought you’d never ask.”

wendy blinks, and suddenly the girl in front of her is different.

at first, she can’t quite make sense of it. the sight defies reasonable explanation so entirely, her mind tries to process it and comes up with nothing.

but those are definitely a pair of pointed ears, covered in glossy black fur, jutting from joy’s dark hair. not to mention the auburn tails now fanned out behind her, mindlessly twining around each other. automatically, wendy counts one, two, three-

“there’s nine,” joy interrupts amusedly. “i can see you trying to count them.”

“but...” 

wendy’s face screws up in confusion. 

nine tails, canine ears. sharp teeth.

she thinks she knows what she’s looking at, now. she’s read of it. she can even remember her mother explaining it to her, when she was still just a kid.

yet out of all the facts she’s sure she knows, she can only think to blurt out one thing.

“i thought we didn’t get those here.”

“get what?” joy says in mock confusion. wendy can tell she’s waiting. she wants to hear her say it out loud, acknowledge it. because then there’ll be no denying that it’s real.

so wendy sucks in a deep, shuddering breath, and obliges her.

“_gumiho_.”

gumihos aren’t supposed to exist. the whispered myths of beautiful, man-eating fox spirits are meant to be just that- myths. only the stuff of fiction and ancient history, gathering dust at the back of people’s minds, or hiding away in the deepest reaches of korea’s forests.

not sat in front of her, in a grimy motel room in the middle of nowhere, america.

“what can i say?” joy shrugs playfully. “i’m a special girl.” 

wendy inhales again. it’s not much help. her lungs feel like sodden sponges, barely taking in enough air to stop her head from spinning.

“s-so, uh.”

she flounders, trying to think of something, anything that will help her feel like she’s back on solid ground.

“do you- do you only eat men?”

“bad men,” joy corrects. “which the world could use a lot less of, anyway.” 

“what about women?”

“sometimes. when they deserve it.” joy tilts her head curiously, like a dog would. or a fox. “are you scared, wendy? that i might eat you?” 

wendy doesn’t understand why the question makes her feel so stupid. it’s natural to be scared of what’s higher up on the food chain. any normal, well-adjusted person would be scared of joy. wouldn’t want anything to do with her.

“why else would you make me come with you, then?” she retorts, voice shaky with the last dregs of her fear. “i-if you didn’t want to... feed, on me.”

for a few seconds, it looks like joy’s actually giving the question some serious thought. but then she just shrugs. the very picture of casual and nonchalant, even though her words tell a different story.

“i was getting tired of driving around by myself.”

  
  


**march**

killing is so often imagined to be clean, all untraceable and knife-sharp precision. perhaps that’s appealing to some, or to the masses who love the fantasy of a clinically executed kill.

personally, joy’s never subscribed to the idea.

she does things her way. that means claws and teeth, missing organs and gouged flesh. the climax of a kill at its most primal, and often its most satisfying.

but it also makes a damn mess, so she’s always getting herself new work clothes. they’re never anything special, just anything that’s comfortable and fits, but it’s become something of a chore over the years to keep up a supply of clean things to wear.

today is another errand day. jobs have started picking up again after the dry spell at the beginning of the year, and with more meals comes more ruined and bloody outfits. 

(she’s been particularly bad at being neat lately. it’s like she just keeps hitting all the _spraying_ veins.)

for the first time in a while, though, errand day is actually interesting. she has herself some company to shop with.

wendy is silent and compliant as she shuffles behind joy, toting a shopping basket of cheap clothes. it’s hard to tell what she’s thinking, exactly. a fox’s senses might be sharp, but they can’t read minds. joy can feel a question coming on regardless, though.

see, wendy is finally starting to open up. oh so hesitantly pushing back, asking questions, poking her head out of that shell of hers. 

it’s positively delightful. 

joy hasn’t answered proper questions about herself in years. she’d almost forgotten how good such close attention feels- to have someone always around her. always focused on her. she can’t help but want more, any chance she can get.

she stops and pivots neatly on her heel to face wendy, the human girl nearly stumbling over her own feet in her haste to not bump into her.

her eyes were pointed in a very particular direction. downwards.

“see something you like?” joy says, pleased, because it’s always nice to have her physical assets paid attention to, but wendy just shakes her head, chewing awkwardly at her lip.

“no,” she insists weakly. “not that. i was just thinking about the, uh. tails.”

“the tails,” joy repeats, curious. she watches the flesh of wendy’s bottom lip pale under the pressure of her teeth. “my tails? what about them?”

“where they go. like…” wendy’s mouth opens and shuts for a few seconds, a little helpless. “why didn’t i see them for so long?”

“oh. well, i don’t know where they go.” joy shrugs. “i can just hold them all back if i have to, the fox parts of me. not forever, but long enough. the tails are the hardest.” she makes a face. “they itch after a few days.”

“ah.”

“i don’t deal with that as much now, though. because i don’t have to hide from you like everyone else.”

joy smiles despite herself. the thought makes her rather stupidly happy. 

“right,” wendy mumbles. her voice is as subdued as ever, but she looks strangely troubled. she always looks troubled. it’s as if she doesn’t have any other state of being. at least when they would meet briefly at the convenience store, her face was never frozen in this tight-lipped uncertainty.

she would smile. laugh, even, a quietly charming little sound.

as she turns back to continue through the aisles, joy thinks about what wendy looks like when she smiles with her teeth.

  


foxes aren’t pack animals. they hunt and sleep on their own. other than mates and young, they simply focus on surviving, and their territory.

unfortunately, joy is on her own, and it’s hard for her to hold any territory to speak of. enough violent disembowelment in one place will make it hard for her to stay anywhere small and isolated, and big cities are already divided up into pieces of turf for every supernatural creature under the sun.

maybe in ancient times, foxes were still something revered. if joy was a little more respected, had at least another century or two under her belt, then maybe she would stand a chance. 

but these days, a young vixen on her own is nothing more than a scruffy pest.

so she never lingers anywhere for too long. that means her possessions, what’s truly hers, are all she’s got as she wanders. wendy counts as one of those now, by virtue of joy’s little gift sitting inside her.

wendy, wendy, wendy. joy loves her name, loves how nicely it rolls off her tongue. everyone else she passes by in life tends to remain nameless, just money or a meal, or a way to get either. now she has someone of her very own, to call for whenever she likes.

it wasn’t on purpose. she’s never been one of the ones who wanted a pet to toy with. back then, she had simply finished feeding, only to see wendy sprawled out lifelessly on the other side of the room. 

the sight had pierced through the pleasant post-feeding haze in an instant. the cashier’s eyes, always tired but never dull, were glazed over. her face was going chalky and gray.

for the first time in forever, the sight of someone dying had been horrifying.

joy had just been so _attached_. liked how innocently infatuated wendy obviously was, the way her heart would start to pound in frantic staccato whenever she was near her. could smell the wanting in her whenever their fingers so much as brushed. she would go out of her way to that shitty store just to catch her soft vanilla scent again.

wendy was something special. when she looked at joy, it felt like she was seeing her in a way no one else did. and she was so delicate, pretty and pale like a lovingly made doll. far better than any random morsel.

the idea of death snatching her away was so unbearably unfair.

she had parted wendy’s limp, cooling lips in a sloppy kiss, slipping her little gift into her mouth without a second thought of the consequences.

the girl had to come with her, of course. it would be like signing her death warrant to leave her alone with that blaze of power simmering in her, ripe for the taking, and she would die even faster if joy just took it back.

couldn’t have that.

why, exactly, she doesn’t know. she’s a predator. it’s in her very nature to take, not to give. but she doesn’t feel like working herself into an existential crisis. there’s more important things to focus on.

like the way wendy’s finally stopped shaking like a leaf every time they so much as make eye contact with each other. and the wary understanding in her eyes, eating away at the fear that had once filled them before.

and how just under the surface, melting like a sugar cube against her tongue, joy can catch the scent of something else. an undercurrent of wanting, longing, growing stronger every day. 

  
  


wendy’s finally far enough along to tentatively try driving. the patch of scarring over her belly has shrunken a good amount, doesn’t bother her as much while she moves. the little hisses of discomfort joy has grown used to hearing are becoming less frequent.

they’re driving through some quiet suburbs near their latest motel, inching through the empty streets at a snail’s pace. joy had thought it would be a good place to practice the basics again. she did say she was a little bored of driving herself around, after all. wendy will be perfectly suitable for that duty soon.

evidently, wendy thinks the peaceful road is an even better place to ask her questions.

“what did you put in me?” she says abruptly, coming to a sluggish stop at an intersection and flipping on the turn signal. joy’s eyebrows lift in pleased surprise.

“so you finally got curious enough to ask about that.”

“yeah, well.” wendy exhales. her hands flex idly on the steering wheel. “i wasn’t sure i wanted to know.”

“it’s my fox bead,” joy tells her cheerfully. “like a little magic marble. it’s tied to my life force.”

“you gave me your _life force?_”

“not all of it. but more than enough to get you back into perfect health.” 

it’s not a lie. she can sense the energy in wendy’s body slowly returning, fueled by the one hundred percent pure foxfire burning away inside her, eating away at all that ails her.

a lot of vital organs sit in the abdomen, and a hole ripped through even one of them spells majorly bad news for something as frail as a human. there’s the flesh wound to repair, then muscle underneath, organs to knit together and a digestive system to keep delicately balanced… it’s a lot of work, even for such potent magic.

the burn scarring is an unfortunate but temporary side effect- humans aren’t built very compatible with the supernatural. but wendy is as hardy and adaptable as any other member of the species. she’ll bounce back.

eventually, even once the fox bead is gone, her body will be as pristine, healthy, and unmarked as the day she was born. even more perfect than she already is.

“your life force… that sounds important.” wendy frowns. “why would you give it to me?”

“don’t you believe i can just do things out of the goodness of my heart?” joy pouts. “i’m hurt, wendy.”

“okay, sure,” wendy goes on, ignoring her for what seems to be a more pressing question, “but how did you, uh.” she grimaces, starting the car into a right turn. “put it… in... me?”

“nothing terrible. just a little mouth to mouth.”

“ah.” the corner of wendy’s mouth twitches, like she’s recalling something unsavory. “so you kissed me. with corpse breath.”

“that’s the one other way i can feed,” joy continues helpfully, ignoring her right back. “through the bead. pass it into the other person, let it soak up their energy, then take it back for myself.”

she allows herself a quiet huff of amusement. 

“sex is the best time for it, usually.”

the car jerks to a halt.

yes, she had figured this would be the fun part.

“the bead needs a deep kiss to get it back. with tongue.” joy giggles. “and the act leaves people all tired out, so it’s natural to do it then since they won’t get suspicious. you’re not the type for all of that, though. i don’t think you’d like it one bit.”

she watches delightedly as wendy, smart girl that she is, recognizes the obvious trap, but for a second, takes a step into it anyway. lets the words bounce around in her head. thinks about joy pinning someone down and-

wendy shuts her eyes, obviously against whatever image just popped into her mind.

“i think you’re right,” she says, and the car begins to move again.

“it only gets me by a day or two at most, though,” joy sighs mournfully. “like eating candy for dinner. it just isn’t the same.”

“so you couldn’t live on just that,” wendy says, but they both know the real question underneath is _so you really are stuck eating people._

joy shrugs. 

“even foxes need a balanced diet.” 

  


wendy saves her best question for last, once they’ve finally circled back to their motel.

“you’re taking your, um. bead. right? after the year ends.”

“that’s the plan.” joy yawns, stretching lazily out over one of the beds. “you’ll probably have recovered by then.”

“could you do it earlier?”

“if you want to walk around looking and feeling like someone stuck a hot poker in your stomach. i wouldn’t recommend it, though.” joy eyes her, probing. “getting antsy?” 

she takes a moment to consider other possibilities.

“curious, maybe? about how it feels?”

“no. just double checking my options.” 

wendy’s voice has a tremble in it. small, maybe even imperceptible to the human ear, but joy can hear it. clear as day. 

“it wasn’t any fun kissing a dead girl,” she muses. “i’m looking forward to the real thing.”

her lips tilt up into a satisfied smile when wendy’s pulse spikes, the _thump-thump-thump_ of it stuttering faster and faster as she wordlessly turns away.

  


**april **

work seems to pick up for joy as the weeks pass. wendy’s not sure what brings it on. maybe certain times of year are more conducive to murder, or something. 

having finally been deemed recovered enough to drive along the freeway, her nights toting a bloody joy around in the front seat start to become… frequent. routine, even. joy will get a call, and when she answers it someone tells her who to kill and why. and then wendy does the driving joy needs to get to them, or stalk them, sometimes. 

she feels like it should worry her, ferrying around a killer like some kind of glorified chauffeur.

yet somehow, she doesn’t feel a thing.

something that helps: joy has become chatty since revealing her true nature. she’s graduated from constant staring to constant conversation, seeming to very much enjoy talking to wendy about things. those things now include the long rap sheets of her victims, sometimes with proof sent from the clients themselves.

it’s not like wendy asks. she doesn’t say, _please tell me who you’re eating for their crimes every week or so._ but she doesn’t tell her to stop either. it’s interesting, in a morbid way. it gives her thoughts to pass the time with.

there’s an obvious connection between every single one of joy’s kills. it doesn’t matter where they are, how much they make, what they look like. none of that. it’s just that they’re all abusers, whether of power or of other people. they hurt others. they take and ruin lives. 

joy seems to view things simply. many people need other people out of their lives who just refuse to go. their presences are malignant and need to be carved out, excised completely, by an outside force, and that’s exactly what she is- the outside force.

it must take a lot of pain to push someone that hard. wendy feels a bit sad if she thinks of those people too much, the ones backed so far into a corner they’ll pay to wipe someone else off the face of the earth. 

“don’t think of them, then,” joy says when wendy awkwardly admits as much. the gumiho’s voice is affable, fox features showing in her relaxation, but her mouth is still red and wet with the remnants of a leery priest from the kansas countryside.

it’s distracting. for what reason, exactly, wendy can’t put a finger on.

she drags her eyes up to the furry tufts of joy’s ears poking out from her hair, then back to the road ahead of them. they still have a lot more featureless farm pasture to chug through before they reach somewhere they can stop.

“that’s it?” she says, frowning.

“that’s it,” joy confirms. her face scrunches up in thought at wendy’s still-dubious expression. “would money help? i could give you a cut.”

“what? no.” wendy winces. “i don’t know if i really want your, uh, blood money. or if it’ll make me feel better.”

“yeah, well. you see how i live.” joy shrugs. “it’s not like i really care that much about it. it just kind of sits there. i could give you half and probably still have more than enough for me.”

“maybe,” wendy says reluctantly. “i guess i could use it when i go.”

“that’s right,” joy says thoughtfully. “time’s a-ticking. maybe i can give you a little christmas allowance, once this is all over.”

even in the dark, out of the corner of her eye, wendy can see the glint of the fox girl’s teeth as she grins.

“you think i could convince you to stay?” joy purrs, low and promising. obviously knowing exactly what she’s doing, what effect she has. 

_no_, wendy thinks. _i should go home to my proper, moral life. where nothing happens, and i’m not an accomplice to a double-digit number of murders. _

she can’t bring herself to actually say it. or anything else, for that matter.

she doesn’t turn her head to look at joy’s face. maybe she looks hurt, that dramatically wounded look she always gets when wendy assumes something bad about her, or maybe she’s watching her hungrily for an answer- not that that’s much different from how she normally is. 

whatever it may be, wendy tells herself she’s better off not knowing.

  


spending every day with a person is the best way to get to know them. first impressions can reverse. those who didn’t get along can get used to each other.

wendy thinks she can safely call herself used to to joy and her strange affections.

there’s no mistaking them as affections now, either. they can’t be anything else. she’s never felt as wanted in her life as when joy looks in her direction. disconcertingly, a growing part of her very much likes the feeling.

to try and straighten it out, wendy’s reviewed what she thinks she knows about... demons. monstrous creatures, sadistic killers. their cold eyes are black like polished obsidian, and they’re charismatic and powerful, playing with human lives the way children throw around toys. that all seems to be the idea.

(they certainly don’t have _affections_, at least not in ways a human being will ever be able to stomach.)

joy is a killer. certainly a little sadistic, when it comes to ripping evildoers to shreds. she has a wildness to her features and an appetite for human flesh. she’s not shy about any of it either, seemingly assured that wendy won’t freak out about it, and strangely, she’s right. wendy doesn’t even blink at the sight of furry ears or fox tails anymore, let alone claws or teeth.

but the thing is, despite all of the very not human parts of her, nothing about joy actually seems _evil._

her gaze is orange, the fiery, cunning eyes of a fox. she does have a magnetic energy about her, an easy and flirtatious confidence that makes wendy feel small, but there’s also a sort of excitedly halting restraint to their interactions, like she’s trying to win the trust of a stray cat. 

it’s recognizable, what’s in her voice- the half-there delight of having a flighty creature’s attention, waiting for it to approach you. 

of course, there’s also one last thing about her that’s most striking of all, completely impossible to ignore, which is that she’s beautiful. almost painfully so. from the full curves of her body to her pretty, plush-looking lips, everything about her screams tempting and desirable. she relishes in it, says it’s because her job is keeping her so well-fed.

_i think you might be my lucky charm, wendy. _the words are still fresh in wendy’s mind, having come her way just a few days ago. _maybe i should keep you around forever._

all of it makes her itch. she shouldn’t notice such things when she looks at joy. she should be seeing the gore that lingers under her fingernails after a kill and smears all over her perfect face. she should see a dangerous predator, a foe and not a friend.

and she should definitely not be becoming _comfortable_ around a literal maneater.

  


“why don’t you tell me about yourself?” joy says one day, crunching on the remnants of her soft serve ice cream cone. they’re sitting in the parking lot of a burger chain, the car a warm refuge from the cooling spring evening.

“what?” wendy says, cautious. “why?”

“i answer everything you ask me,” joy points out. “but i don’t know the least thing about you.” (except how to give her a moral crisis, apparently.)

“i don’t see why you’d want to,” wendy says shortly. joy’s eyes narrow.

“because boring, normal girls don’t willingly sign their lives over to strangers.”

damn it, she’s got a point. as usual.

“i can tell you’re level-headed,” joy continues. “you make good decisions. you handle yourself well.” 

she cocks her head in that inquisitive way she always does.

“so what were you doing in that shithole of a town, wendy?”

there it is. that raw, exposed feeling of being _read_. like all her defenses are neatly peeled away.

“i just needed a place to get away,” wendy admits, too fast. too easily. something about joy always makes her want to talk despite herself.

“from what?”

“everyone.”

“did someone hurt you?” joy says. her face is innocent and impartial, a deceptively blank slate, but wendy gets the impression that naming any names would result in some terrifying news headlines.

“it wasn’t like that,” she insists. that comes out easy, too, because it’s the truth. “i just got tired. people would always ask me for things, you know? because i like saving things. helping people. i did that all my life. i would do it even if people didn’t ask.”

“but,” joy prompts, looking intensely invested, and wendy’s shoulders sink a little at the pressure of it. 

“but people didn’t do it for me. i never noticed that.” a rueful laugh slips out of her. “my whole life, and i never realized people didn’t care about what i wanted. nobody batted an eye until i stopped letting them walk all over me.”

she sighs.

“so i ran all the way to the furthest, most boring place i could find. took the most isolated job i could think of. i figured, here nobody would ask me for anything. no sacrifices or favors. just things they needed, and they'd be on their way.”

the words sound so melodramatic, so filled with immature angst, wendy wishes she could take them back.

but it seems she’s the only one who’s so disgusted by them.

“god,” joy breathes, sounding dreamy. she practically looks starry-eyed. “you’re such a good fucking person.”

“is that why you keep me around?” wendy looks at her out of the corner of her eye, halfheartedly suspicious. “because you think i’m untainted, or something, so you can corrupt me. make me like you.”

“i’m not making you into anyone.” joy licks off the sticky vanilla lingering at her lips. “i like you just the way you are, actually. maybe you’re the one who wants a change.”

“you like me,” wendy repeats, disbelieving.

“i do. you’re soft.” joy reaches out and pokes her cheek. “and sweet. my two favorite things.”

  


despite their growing closeness, wendy is still missing a lot of pieces. joy’s age, her past, if joy is even her real name. not to mention the question of why a nine-tailed fox, of all things, is wandering america’s roads like an abandoned dog.

that makes it even more frustrating how joy seems to see right through her. she sinks her teeth in and tears away, until they can both see the off-white of wendy’s bones.

it’s only a few nights later that the playing field between them finally levels. 

for a while now, they’ve been sleeping in the same room. joy used to always spend nights elsewhere, seemingly just to put wendy at ease, but somewhere along the way, it stopped. maybe she just got tired of sleeping in the backseat.

to be honest, wendy’s not even sure if joy needs sleep. maybe she stands over wendy and watches her all night instead, with those unearthly orange eyes of hers. she had a nightmare like that a few weeks ago. it seems like something joy would do. 

she jerks in surprise when the lamp between their beds clicks on without warning, interrupting her thoughts.

“can’t sleep?”

joy’s voice is soft and guileless, sheets rustling as she sits up in the other bed a few feet away. wendy huffs. no way out of conversation now.

“not really.”

“would a bedtime story help?” 

joy pats her own lap invitingly. wendy doesn’t move. 

she can’t seriously be asking- 

“come lie here, wendy,” joy says sweetly. wendy stiffens at the request, but she can’t exactly disobey, because what if joy bites a chunk of her out for insolence, or something.

she shuffles over to the other bed and curls up hesitantly, letting her head come slowly to rest on the fox girl’s lap.

immediately, the same hands that rip people apart, tear flesh, crack bones, begin to run gently, absently through her hair.

“a _gumiho_ is meant to be born naturally, you know,” joy tells her, voice hushed and confiding, as if she’s sharing a secret. “a fox has to live for a thousand years before it becomes one, which makes it a very high honor. for the ancient and revered.”

wendy frowns, wondering where this is going. was joy once an actual fox? is she centuries old?

“this story isn’t about a fox, though,” joy continues, as if she’s read wendy’s mind. “it’s about a very normal girl.”

“a girl,” wendy repeats, voice a quiet mumble. as tense as their position is, joy’s soft stroking seems to be having its intended effect, soothing her the same way it might a scared pet. there’s something warm and cozy about it, guiding her closer to the edge of sleep.

“years ago, a bunch of rich old men got together to sacrifice a virgin to the dark gods,” joy continues, conversational. “it was a family affair. different bloodlines coming together to renew their wealth, their power, for another generation. but this time, they got the wrong girl. you see where this is going.”

wendy shivers as joy’s nails scratch feather-light at her scalp. 

“n-no...?”

“you innocent little lamb, you. don’t you know what happens when you’re meant to sacrifice a virgin, but you gut the town _slut_ instead?” joy laughs harshly. “hell returns her to sender with a little something special.”

“wait.” 

suddenly, wendy is a lot more awake. 

“are you talking about yourself?”

“it’s just terrible, isn’t it.” out of the corner of her eye, she sees joy’s lips peel back to bare her teeth. it’s a mockery of a smile, something much more bitter and resentful. “bringing the korean girl back as the fox spirit. it must have given them a real laugh.”

the words are flippant, sneering and sarcastic, but wendy still finds herself dumbstruck at what they actually mean.

joy was human, once. probably not too long ago. she was a normal girl, with a normal life- probably friends. certainly family.

_even nice girls will fight for their lives if they have to._

in sudden, heart-wrenching clarity, she understands all at once why joy has never seemed to hold her little murder attempt against her.

“the girl woke up confused.” joy’s voice is distant and soft again, sinking into a far-off memory. “and so very hungry. she followed a scent away from where she was killed, and found a man who had been there, only hours ago.” 

she pauses. 

“what do you think happened to him, wendy?”

wendy swallows. dislodges joy’s hand from her head as she rolls onto her back, looking up at her warily.

“he died,” she says. there’s certainly no other right answer.

“that’s right,” joy coos, patting her cheek fondly. “she woke up next to him, and her belly was full. but his insides were all on the outside.”

the silence that follows hangs thick in the air, settling over wendy like a heavy, uncomfortable blanket.

“how old were you?” she finally manages, voice barely above a whisper. 

“twenty-one. i only remember since it was my first night out as a legal drinker.” joy snorts. “emphasis on ‘legal.’ i got around before then. slut, remember.”

that’s young. younger than wendy is now. come to think of it, she was the same age not too long ago.

“so you’re just stuck there now? immortal?” wendy stares up at joy’s unbothered face, more stricken than she thought she ever could be over an unapologetic murderer. “at twenty-one?”

“until i die,” joy says lightly. “whenever that is. don’t look so upset, wendy.” she chuckles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “being young forever’s not all bad. i’m just a little impulsive, still. i want things that i shouldn’t.”

“are you looking for them?” wendy questions. “all the men who were there.”

for a second she’s scared she’s pushed too much, crossed the line by shattering their little charade of a bedtime story, but joy doesn’t seem to mind. she just hums and tucks wendy’s hair behind her ear.

“i haven’t found out every name and face.” the sentence is full of disappointment. “a shame. but i follow what scents i catch. take my time, see the sights. get rid of other bad apples along the way.”

“if you find them all, get rid of them...” wendy’s eyes unfocus a little as her thoughts start to race. “could that reverse it?”

“there’s no fixing me.” joy pats her face again. she's very obviously enjoying the excuse to touch her. “i’m not something for you to save.”

“but what if you could be normal, though," wendy persists. “what if you could get your life back?”

“i have my best life right here, wendy,” joy tells her, voice gently chiding like she’s correcting a mistaken child. “this is what i’m made for now. even if i could go back, i wouldn't. things are better this way.”

she smiles that sharp, razor’s edge smile. 

“i’ll never, ever be powerless again.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the response to this is lovely! i've been busy, but rest assured i read everything and i love to see what people think... it fuels me. thanks for waiting and enjoy the update! every kudo and comment appreciated.

**may **

nothing changes much. joy hunts, and wendy drives. sitting at the wheel doesn’t seem to strain much for her, other than her willpower to sit through hours and hours of countryside and cows. the healing process continues to chug along nicely. she actually finds herself appreciating the slight feeling of purpose it all gives her.

see, the realization that “murder assistant” is a much better occupation than “dead” really helps put a lot of things into perspective.

besides, her mind tends to wander to odd places without anything to do. like joy. and joy’s appetite. what she might be thinking, at any given moment. if she’s hungry. if she’s happy.

the two of them undeniably have a connection. joy’s life force is sitting in her. it’s keeping her guts together, her body from failing. she owes her for that, and a feeling of debt is a powerful thing. powerful enough to keep wendy right where she is, even when all she has is a dubious promise that she won’t get eaten alive.

still, she can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else at play. some other reason that joy refuses to leave her head, filling up even her most idle thoughts. even passing through her dreams, every once in a while.

if things are still like this by the end of the year, she may have a bit of a problem on her hands.

as they approach the halfway mark of what she owes, it’s hard not to think about the future. she has no doubt that everything will be the same as when she left. no neighbors who care enough to wonder where she’s been. no friends worried over her disappearing off the face of the earth for a year. her house gathering dust, reluctantly paid for with the nest egg wendy had been sitting on to migrate from the damn place.

in the end, she’ll be the only thing that’s changed. for better, or, more likely, for worse. 

“let me in that head of yours, wendy.”

wendy blinks, brakes hit on her train of thought. “huh?”

“you heard me.” joy goggles at her with customary round-eyed curiosity. “tell me what’s on your mind.” 

wendy flusters a little, running a hand through her hair as the wind blows through it. joy has the worst knack for catching her off guard.

“nothing,” she finally answers, “literally. more than i’ve ever seen, all of this, it’s all...” she waves a hand around at their surroundings. “a whole lot of _nothing._”

that, at least, is also the truth. the rest stop they’ve pulled over into is completely empty. just grimy plastic tables, grimy little bathrooms, and a couple of vending machines that have seen better days. and a lot of gravel. it seems to be the only man-made thing other than the road for miles in every direction.

“that’s america for you.” joy shrugs. “we’re getting to the empty part of it now. more mountains and acres of national park than people.”

“i read that there’s a bunch of those parks close to where we are.” wendy’s brow furrows with a thought. “you could probably find one and just- vanish into it forever.”

“what, into the forest?” joy laughs. “living on rabbits and hikers? no thank you. i’ll stick to the urban jungle.”

“no one would ever find you there,” wendy lets slip, unthinking, and a familiar playful amusement begins to bloom over joy’s face.

“if i didn’t know any better, i’d almost think you were worried about my criminal record.”

“what, like i shouldn’t be?” wendy withdraws a little, recoiling defensively. “if you get caught this year, my life is over for good.”

“please.” joy scoffs. “i’ve never had to deal with the authorities. do you know how easy it is for me to do what i do? it’s like shooting fish in a fucking barrel.” 

“right. of course.” 

wendy still feels too raw and exposed in these moments- when she pushes back just a little, toes the fine line between compliant and insolent. she doesn’t understand why joy seems so intent on pulling her towards it.

“don’t worry, honey,” joy soothes, sensing her distress. “you know i’d never judge for having murder on your mind.”

the effect is quite the opposite, though. wendy chokes on air for a second at the words.

“oh, i’m sorry.” a hand slaps over joy’s heart in mock dismay, fox ears going dramatically flat against her head. “do you not like that? would baby be better?”

wendy pauses to try to give it a thought- and her thought is that joy constantly calling her _baby_ would deeply distress her in every possible way.

“just my name,” she says meekly. “please.”

“sure, wendy,” the gumiho agrees, satisfied. “whatever you like.”

  
  


no more details surface about joy’s old life. no mention of names or dates of any kind, let alone location. wendy only gets one more piece of information- that joy wasn’t born... joy. that she settled into it her first few weeks out on the road, a new name for her new existence.

that’s it, though.

wendy quickly resigns herself to the fact that avenging illicit human sacrifice isn’t meant to be her business. and even if it was, it would be a hell of a lot of work.

it ends up not being the end of the world. time continues to pass. the gloom of night has long been their domain, but the days are starting to grow bright and long, and now wendy knows what blood looks like during the sunset.

joy’s rather overzealous attentiveness finally seems to be put into practice. it’s almost a little scary how in tune she seems to become with what wendy idly thinks. more than a few times, wendy is taken aback when she’s presented with food her mouth has silently been itching for, or directed to a rest stop just when her muscles start to get stiff.

it’s only natural for her guard to slowly start to lower. as jaded as she may be, she’s always been the trusting type at heart. someone who wants to see the good in others, just as much as she wants them to see the good in her. 

most of the time it comes back to bite her in the ass, but old habits die hard. even around someone where one slip-up probably means death.

she even dares to add a shirt to the haul on one of their errand runs, a silly, quaint thing with a picture of a fox’s pointed head stamped on the front, orange and black and white.

if joy notices it slipped in with the usual drab sweatpants and t-shirts, she doesn’t say anything. but when wendy sees her wearing it the next week anyway, for the first time in ages, she gets the urge to actually smile.

it all becomes something approaching… casual. like now, they really are something close to equals.

she should have guessed that the strange peace around them wouldn’t last.

“we’re going out tonight.”

“we?” wendy repeats quizzically. she’s used to joy darting out sometimes, off straightening out unspecified little odds and ends or fetching her some human food. but they don’t usually go out together without any non-homicide reasons. “where… why?”

“humans are social animals, wendy,” joy tells her sagely. “you need some time around other people. this is for your recovery. i’m being considerate.”

considerate is not exactly how she would describe joy in one word, but it does come off as effort to actually be _nice_, just for the sake of it. not for anything else. 

this town is only a halfway point between their last target and their much further next one, anyway. there really is nothing better to do.

so, she lets joy drag her to a little dive bar a short walk from where they’re staying. it’s a bustling, lively little place, and the atmosphere is cozy and warm- perfect for them to blend into the background, sitting next to each other at the far corner of the bar.

the utter normalcy of being around others feels new, after so long in highly unusual company. it seems almost surreal that to every buzzed stranger passing them by, they probably just look like an unobtrusive pair of acquaintances. 

not a single one of these people can see the gore that now paints both their hands.

wendy hasn’t had so much as a thought in the direction of alcohol since this all started. getting tipsy around someone who enjoys eating humans is, well. inadvisable, to say the least. it’s surprising to find out that for once, she was actually worried about nothing.

“i hope you know that drinking won’t work on you,” joy informs her casually. her ears and tails are hidden tonight. she looks as human as can be, jaw-dropping beauty aside.

wendy squints at her, taken aback.

“i wasn’t planning on it,” she admits. “but how do you know that?”

“what you’ve got,” joy says, tapping just under her collarbone, “right in there, the foxfire will just burn it all away. i can’t get drunk either. blood’s too hot, i suppose.” 

“ah.” wendy absently brings her hand up to mirror joy’s, hovering over her own sternum. 

it’s never quite felt like there’s a physical thing in her body. but sometimes she swears she can feel a pull, coming from inside. a tug towards joy, like the fox bead blazing away in her wants to make its way home.

“i’m not a brute, you know,” joy continues, matter-of-fact, “no matter what you think,” and wendy winces a little at being so easily caught in another assumption. “we’ll both be of our right minds. no funny business guaranteed.”

true to her word, there is no funny business of any kind. wendy crunches on a bowl of bar peanuts and simply takes everything in, people-watching since it’s about all she has the energy for.

in turn, joy seems content to watch her all night long.

she swears she catches the fox girl sending a withering glare over her shoulder at one point, but when she turns around to look for herself there’s only a small group of raucously laughing guys there. they seem to be having a good time. 

(and pointedly avoiding looking in wendy and joy’s direction.)

the street is oddly empty once they finally start to head home. sure, it’s a small town that they’re in, not exactly crowded with people, but everything being so quietly deserted rubs wendy the wrong way. she ends up appreciating the arm that joy throws easily over her shoulder- something about it comes off as protective, rather than the usual slyly purposeful intrusions into her space.

out of the corner of her eye, she swears something appears across the street from them. a silhouette mirroring their path, their direction. 

when she cranes her neck to look past joy and off to the other side of the road, though, there’s nothing there to see.

not even a minute later, it sinks in that between the rhythm of her and joy’s quiet walking is something else. tapping, too-quick steps, skittering like a spider. 

but not coming from behind them.

no, they’re coming from up ahead.

joy huffs, nostrils flaring, and then her eyes widen. not by much, but after months spent in her presence, that’s more than enough for wendy to notice.

the air shifts in that moment. wendy can feel it in the way her mouth goes dry, how her heart quickens instinctively.

under the next grimy streetlamp, they almost walk directly into the same presence wendy felt. it’s a silent, hoodie-clad figure, facing off against them in the little pool of orange-yellow light.

it speaks first, beating out the _can we help you_ frozen on the tip of wendy’s tongue.

“you’re not from here,” the figure says, raspy like rustling paper. “first of our kinfolk i’ve seen in a while.”

it’s a… woman’s voice, maybe. difficult to tell. but then the hooded person looks up, light finally cast over an angular, forbidding face.

wendy shivers despite the gentle warmth of the night air. there’s nothing visible in those glittering eyes but undisguised malice, laid bare like the ribs of someone starving. otherwise, they’re completely and utterly devoid of emotion. 

not friendly, or even human in the slightest. as dead as the glassy eyes of a shark.

“we’re just passing through.” the hand on wendy’s shoulder grips tighter. tiny, needle-sharp points of pain sink into her skin as sharpening claws dig in through her shirt. “not looking for anything,” joy adds. her voice is strangely flat. “and leaving soon.”

“i’m looking for something.” the eyes look down at wendy, filled with the kind of disregarding contempt usually reserved for particularly stupid pets. “nice toy you have. little and innocent. we share a type.”

joy’s jaw clenches as she stares the not-woman down. there seems to be some kind of silent fight for dominance going on now, something a human should have no part in.

“not up for grabs,” the gumiho snaps. “take it somewhere else.”

“i want to know,” comes that almost wheezing voice, “if you really won’t give me a taste.”

a smile forms on the intruder’s malevolent face, like a wound carved through the flesh.

“when you play with her, how loud does she squeal?”

_gross._

joy seems to think similarly, since the shattering of her self-restraint is about as loud as a gunshot an inch from wendy’s ear. 

“you don’t get to touch what’s mine,” she hisses, and she’s caught one of the not-woman’s quietly reaching hands in her own, vice-tight, before wendy can even blink. “don’t even think about it.”

that gets a sharp breath that might be a laugh. bony fingers splay out from joy’s fist in an awkward, unsettling way, like the legs of a crushed insect- wendy swears she can almost hear them creaking under the pressure.

“must be a real prize for you to get so riled up.”

“oh, you don’t know the half of it.”

the _crunch_ of bones fracturing is loud, almost sickening in the empty quiet of the street. at the sound, joy’s face twists into something like a smile, but angry. angrier than anything wendy has ever seen. 

“give us some space,” she says, voice back to venomously polite, “if you like yourself with all your limbs.”

the not-woman looks down at where joy is still holding her, examining her own limply dangling hand about as disinterestedly as one might a paper cut. “i suppose you’ve made your point,” she sighs. “for now.”

joy growls, the sound sending a cattle-prod jolt of fear through wendy’s system, and lets go. it seems that both parties have agreed to back down.

for now.

“wendy.” the arm around wendy’s shoulders moves, sliding down and away until their hands are level, lacing their fingers together. “we’re going.”

wendy looks down at their connected hands, blinking silent and sluggish. her head feels funny. like her thoughts are both racing and at a standstill, thrown into a stilted, juddering mess. 

her hand fits so well in joy’s, though. perfectly even.

when she looks up again, the figure, the _thing_, is gone. 

once more, the two of them are all alone.

  
  


joy doesn’t seem happy in the slightest about any of it. her teeth are gritted in an angry snarl, nine tails all lashing in disorientingly different directions. 

if it weren’t for the fury burning in her orange eyes, the sight could almost be funny. unfortunately, wendy isn’t in any sort of laughing mood either.

“is that what you really think of me?” 

“what?” joy skids to a standstill, turning to look at her. the one lamp in their room lies in shards on the floor just behind her, a casualty of her agitated pacing.

“that i belong to you.” wendy hugs her knees to herself where she’s sat at the head of one of the beds. glares at joy with as much venom as she can weakly muster. “that i’m just- a _thing_, that you own.”

there’s a second where joy bristles, and not just figuratively. fox tails ripple and stiffen with indignance before she grumbles, rage visibly dissipating.

“i don’t think that.”

“good,” wendy says snippily. “if i’m supposed to be some toy to pass around with your _kinfolk_, i’d rather you just eat me.”

“give me a break.” joy rolls her eyes. “that demon just called me that because i’m not human. i’m not related to any of those fuckers,” she huffs, looking offended. “they’re so fucking medieval. one look at someone like you and can’t control themselves.”

“what is that supposed to- ”

“someone good, i mean,” joy interrupts. her voice is still gruff with lingering dregs of anger. “anything actually worth a damn. put that in front of them, and all they can think of is defiling it. it’s the only thing they live for.”

wendy looks at her for a long moment. thinks about joy’s hand warm in hers, but then the cold certainty of her voice as she said _mine_, like it was already set in stone. 

it could have been a show, a distraction. or it could have been a glimpse of something very well hidden.

“tell me,” wendy finally says, “how you’re any different.”

“you’re so mean,” the gumiho tuts. it's hard to tell if she actually feels as stung as she looks. “you know i’ve got plenty of other pleasures in life. no defiling necessary.”

even after something so rattling, her words are still poised exactly to push every one of wendy’s buttons. _pleasures. defiling._

it should come off as inappropriate under the circumstances, but just like that, it feels like the joy she knows is back. calm and collected, but warm, too. alive.

wendy still eyes her warily as she pads closer, coming to perch on the edge of the bed a safe distance away. 

“things like that will only back down if they’re put in their place.” joy’s eyes meet hers, back to their normal dark color. “i had to get a little extreme.”

“and if that wasn’t enough?” wendy snaps. her voice shakes. “that lady… whatever she is, she might come back.”

“then i kill her. simple.” joy shrugs, as if she’s just said _then i ask her to go away nicely._ “nothing for you to worry about.”

“you kill_-_ ” wendy makes a pained sound. “sorry, are you saying you would _kill_ someone for me?”

hearing the promise in words is one thing. it’s another entirely to know that the one who’s said them really means it. would do it easily, too, without even breaking a sweat.

it’s a little terrifying. and somehow a little more flattering than it probably should be.

wendy never even got close to buzzed tonight, but her face feels too hot and there’s so much more _feeling_ she can’t even explain still simmering in her, filling up every part of her body. a fearful whimper bubbling up in her throat, the burning pressure of unspilled tears behind her eyes.

all that potential energy wants to go somewhere, to hit something. like a pipe on the verge of bursting.

her bottom lip starts to quiver.

“are you crying?” joy says, disbelieving. wendy sniffles. feels her face screw up in frustration.

“no,” she retorts, and swipes a fist over her face in a huff even as her eyes dampen. “i‘m _fine_.”

“i hope so. i might even cry too, you look so sad. worse than those humane society ads they play on TV around here.” joy gasps in faux dismay. “do you know how long it’s been since i’ve cried, wendy? i haven’t since i got ritually sacrificed. your red little face just hurts my heart that badly.”

“god,” wendy mumbles, burying her head into her arms, “you’re completely insane.” 

joy just chuckles. it doesn’t sound like she’s taking it very personally.

“can i offer you some comfort?” she offers. wendy heaves out a sigh. whatever joy thinks _comfort_ is probably won’t help her in the slightest, but she turns just enough to fix her with one reddening eye anyway.

joy smiles at the attention. it’s a real and warm one now, the corners of her lips pulling up, eyes squinting.

disarming, is what it is.

“as long as you’re with me,” she says, “nobody’s touching a hair on your pretty little head.”

  
  


joy seems to think so many things are easy. as if it’s an absolute piece of cake to not freak out about being deemed the next course of a demon’s lunch. 

sometimes wendy has to wonder if something in the fox girl has fractured inside, not quite understanding other people anymore, after surviving wild and brutal on her own for so long. that would make a lot of sense.

it’s just the worst to now feel so irrationally _watched_. to startle out of dozing off because she feels the ghost of bony fingers crawling up her ankle, or remain twitchy even deep in the reassuring tedium of long drives. 

even if she does go home alive after all this, gets to live the rest of her life as boring and normal as can be, who knows if she’ll ever feel like she’s really escaped.

this is certainly all joy’s fault. damn her and her life-saving. and off-kilter moral code.

and her stupid, too-pretty face.

there’s a storm system in the area, pouring buckets outside. wendy’s body seems to intensely protest it. or maybe it’s the fox bead in her that’s not so happy, because she’s in her late 20s, here, not someone’s crotchety uncle. she’s never been one to get sore over rain. 

still, she wakes up stiff and aching in the middle of the night, muscles in her abdomen shrieking at a mere attempt to turn over in bed. needless to say, she’s not in the best mood that day. they stay in, joy puttering around the room like a tiger stuck in a circus cage while wendy dozes fitfully, catching up on her rest.

when she jerks awake after yet another brush of silky fur against her arm, one of those fox tails curling languidly against her as joy passes, the gumiho stops. turns to look her over with a critical eye.

“why are you so jumpy lately?” she says plaintively, pointed ears going flat. “have i done something to bother you?”

wendy would like to say that there are in fact many things bothering her, joy being enough bother on her own to rival several of them at once, but it’s too much effort.

“no,” she mumbles, burrowing a little further under her covers.

“should i bring the knife over?”

now, that definitely gets wendy’s attention. 

“_what?_”

“i don’t know about you,” joy says, matter-of-fact, “but i think our post-stab relationship took a really big step in the right direction. might be worth giving it one more try.”

wendy glares at her balefully. “i’m not stabbing you again.”

“riddle me this, then,” joy counters, face growing serious. “how else will we stop you from startling around me all the time like a scared little squirrel?”

“going back in time, maybe,” wendy grumbles petulantly, “and keeping me from ever meeting you.”

she doesn’t understand the quiet guilt that seeps into her upon uttering the words. it’s true, isn’t it? maybe her life wasn’t the best, before. but at least it was something safe. something within her control. 

“why do you wound me so, wendy?” joy sighs. “by the end of the year, your boring normal life will be all yours again anyway.”

“assuming,” wendy interrupts, thoroughly skeptical, “that you’re even going to let me go.”

“i only ever do exactly what i want to, which i’m sure you’ve figured out by now. but i also know what it’s like, not having a say in how your life ends up.” joy's voice is pointed. “i think it’s only fair you get your chance to pick and choose.”

there’s an implication in the words. as if the idea that wendy will go right back home is in question, somehow.

wendy’s usual instinct is to not provoke the girl who could probably snap her neck like a twig, so she bites back her urge to get worked up now. arguing won’t do her any good. especially not when, as strange as it all feels, joy is probably the only thing standing between her and death in various unpleasant forms.

“thanks,” she says reluctantly instead. “that’s... nice of you.”

“stop worrying. i’ll make sure you make it to december.” something in joy’s eyes softens a little. “considering it’s my fault you up and died, i think i owe you that much.”

“you don’t seem like the owing type.”

“because i’m not. i don’t make a habit of owing anything to anybody.” joy pats wendy’s head affectionately. “feels nice to be an exception, doesn’t it?”

apparently it’s a rhetorical question, since the fox girl’s attention easily drifts from wendy to the gray, rain-soaked view outside the window. privately, though, the tension that feels wound tightly around wendy’s throat loosens at the thought of someone looking out for her. 

it’s just by a fraction, but the relief of it might as well mean the whole world off her shoulders.

for the first time in days, it feels like she can breathe properly again.

  
  


**june**

joy doesn’t hold her critical decision making in very high regard. take the whole “not taking the precaution of watching her drink just once and ending up butchered in the local backwoods” thing, which definitely ranks up there on her list of bad calls. even more unfortunately, the same girl who fucked up that badly is now stuck the same way forever. 

joy has sort of come to understand that even as the years pass, some things never change. even as she gains more worldly wisdom and street smarts galore, her young and hot-blooded self simply refuses to dissipate, trapped in her body alongside her. 

that means she’s usually content to drift along with the currents of bloodshed. only taking things as they come does a good job of keeping her out of harm’s way.

despite this, she will admit that she was smart when she made the very critical decision to appoint wendy as her driver. she has to commend herself for that one. 

there’s a lot to love about the whole arrangement. the girl is road-conscious, level-headed in a way joy’s temper often isn’t. very diligent, too, and doesn’t mind holding conversation on the road, something that’s become rather sorely missed.

best of all, joy can look at her all she wants. 

she’s pretty today, face ruddy from the cool morning air and gaze distant, pushed out of focus and into the daze of driving. windblown hair tops it all off and makes her look positively delectable. oh, how joy wants. wants so badly.

there are more pressing matters on her mind, though. most of them are daydreams of long and drawn-out revenge killing, just because she’s feeling particularly spiteful about the problem at hand. 

removing the spine, for example, is quite the theatrical show of vengeance, but it’s far more trouble than the brief satisfaction is worth. going to have to nix that idea.

shaking her head, she leans out of the open passenger window, fox ears waving wildly with the rush of air past the car. the quiet sound of wendy mumbling along to the radio fades, blown away by the wind. 

she narrows her eyes, willing her lip to not curl into a disgruntled scowl as they pass by a _WELCOME TO WYOMING_ sign with a man on horseback emblazoned on it. 

the wind is blowing against them rather than coming from behind, so the air seems deceptively crisp and clean, free of any suspicious scents. joy knows better, though. they’re definitely being followed.

there are many maneaters inhabiting the united states. joy is just one of them, albeit a particularly active one. several rungs below her on the predator ladder are… demons.

or something. it’s not like she ever had anyone to teach her what they’re actually called. they’re pure evil, whatever they are. and pure annoying.

most demons have a sharp and unnatural stink to them- their black blood is like formaldehyde, almost burning the nostrils. this one is no different. it must not have sensed exactly what she is, since any creature with a keen nose, especially anything like a wolf or a fox, could smell one coming from a mile away.

wendy can’t, though. it’s a bit of an issue, because joy prefers her little human charge happy and healthy, and would rather she not be unpleasantly surprised by the secret admirer who’s been lurking around them for the past few weeks. she’s only just started settling down again.

the fear of a soon-to-be kill is often savory, even enjoyable. but wendy’s abject terror is so bitter and unpleasant. thoroughly unpalatable in any way.

not a scent joy’s very keen on catching anytime soon.

she’s used to getting pesky little groupies every once in a while. she’ll even do them the favor of tolerating their vulture-like circling. but normally, they’re after what remains of her kills, hoping to pick at her scraps. not to gobble up something that’s become her responsibility to safeguard at all costs.

that demon bitch. she made wendy cry.

the next time she shows her face, joy won’t be nearly as understanding.

  
  


one thing that has taken getting used to is the eating. there’s so much more of it now, and not on her end for once. humans really do need their three meals a day, or they’ll run themselves into the ground. 

once she might have complained at the stops and mild delays, the need to keep up an actual supply of real, actual food. but with wendy around, it feels less like a nuisance and a little more like something to be savored.

“i want some.” joy pouts. that usually gets her what she wants, when wendy is concerned. “just a bite.”

wendy scoffs. looks down at her plate, where there’s a nice forkful of warm food already right there for the taking, and picks it up. scoffs again.

“seriously,” she says, a tiny hint of exasperation hidden in her usual hesitant voice, but she holds the fork out to joy anyways. “you don’t even need to eat.”

“doesn’t mean my taste buds have stopped working,” joy says matter-of-factly, and lets out a quietly delighted moan around her piece of wendy’s breakfast, sticky syrup and buttery soft pancake melting together wonderfully in her mouth. 

roadside diners have such satisfying food. especially the little retro-looking ones, the family business sort of places that have endured the many tests of time. this one is a prime example, colorfully neon-lit even at nine in the morning, jukebox sitting cheerfully in a corner. 

it’s nice and cozy, the food an excellent little creature comfort. she hasn’t let herself indulge in a place like this in a while.

joy considers herself… not quite human. close, though. person-adjacent. the human form of her remains, just with some of the important values neatly scooped out- such as, for example, any sort of deep-seated aversion to eating other people.

they also ended up replaced with other things. so maybe there’s a part of her, a_ small_ part, that isn’t so different from the lowlifes she so hates. something that looks at wendy and thinks _take_ and _ruin_ and _mine_ just a little too loudly.

but she hasn’t made it this far by only being a wild animal. she’s smarter, more sophisticated than that. if there’s one human thing she’s still got, it’s an appreciation for the nicer things in life.

like breakfasts with a little bit of love put into them. or a slow dance of seduction with someone worth the trouble.

“you’ve got a little something on you.”

“what?”

joy smiles. reaches out over the table, swiping a thumb over the corner of wendy’s lips before drawing back to pop her finger into her mouth.

tastes sweet.

“syrup,” she says cheerfully, as wendy gets a look on her face like she’s been kicked in the shin under the table. “watch out. it drips.”

if good things come to those who wait, joy is sure her patience will earn her something priceless.

  
  
  


things have begun heating up as they meander further west. the season is changing and isn’t afraid to let everyone know about it. even closer to the mountains, cold air still can’t help but give way to drier heat.

wendy reacts to it fast. her wardrobe is rapidly switching from full-body layers and long sleeves to more airy and loose-hanging things, baring more and more enticing slices of skin. with her short hair growing out long and scruffy, lately she’s been looking so soft. so vulnerable.

might as well just tape a _please kidnap me_ sign to her back and call it a day, honestly.

joy knows her own resilience. she gets out of just about everything unharmed now, but her earlier days weren’t such smooth sailing. amateur hunter and dangerous, often violent prey is a rather bad combination.

she’s survived flailing defensive stabs with letter openers and kitchen knives, bullets of various calibers, blunt force trauma in several awkward places. once, someone had even run her down with his truck like roadkill. 

(he hadn’t been too happy when she’d gotten back up.)

as long as she’s eaten anything within the last few weeks, though, there isn’t much she can’t bounce back from. it’s unfortunate that wendy is an entirely different story. just one quick jab to the solar plexus and she’d be down for the count. open to getting killed, or dragged god knows where for god knows what. 

for the first time, joy finds herself rather stressed by her innate killer instinct. knowing all the intimate ins and outs of bodily harm has never been so _bothersome_.

she’d been enjoying their uninterrupted little trip so far, so why some asshole demon had to pick the absolute worst time to bother them is beyond her. puts her in a damn bad mood, too. 

all of it has her very much looking forward to tonight, which is off to a very good start. the drive here was very scenic, a soothing balm for her soul on the way up to this target’s isolated hillside estate.

he’s an embezzling accountant who siphoned away millions of dollars over time, all from unsuspecting clients in need. he flaunts his dirty money from a house too large for him, all high ceilings and open space. it’s a greedy life he doesn’t deserve. instructions were simply to be as awful as her heart desired.

absolutely perfect for working off some steam.

he’s cornered in his bedroom now, a fine mist of blood already speckling the pristinely modern white carpet, and joy bears down on him with all the merciless indifference of oncoming traffic.

“no place to hide now, little man,” she hums, teeth flashing in a predatory smile. “nowhere to go.”

she watches the shuddering rise and fall of his chest. takes a moment to listen to the sucking, fruitless breaths passing through his lungs. in, then out. in and out, in-and-out-

it all dies down with a gurgle as she shoves her hand through him, the soft flesh of his belly giving under her claws like wet paper. 

the room quickly starts to grow rank with the gush of fresh blood, the steaming heat of entrails. joy can feel the haze of hunger coming over her, fox features unfurling out of thin air until she’s in her truest form.

wendy is playing lookout just where joy made her way in. her footsteps shuffle around quietly, and her heartbeat is quick and alert, but not afraid. 

lately, she’s been… approaching. 

it started first with leaning against the car as she waited, and then edging closer and closer to where joy does her dirty work. joy doesn’t know why, but it seems almost like wendy’s getting curious. like she wants to get a better look.

that’s not safe, though, which is worrisome. and for once, she can think of a closeness with wendy she would rather not have.

the idea of anyone watching her feed is bizarre. most of her rankles at the thought, hating it the way you’d hate someone seeing you naked when they shouldn’t. she especially recoils at the thought of it scaring wendy off for good before the year’s end.

after how far they’ve come, that would be rather upsetting. the prospect is almost scary. not much on earth scares joy anymore.

another part of her practically _wails_ for it to work out, though. wants the impossible dream of being seen in her gruesome entirety, and still being wanted. 

who would have known she still had it in her to be a romantic. 

joy can feel a pull in her, a need to be getting on with things. perhaps it’s the foxfire as usual, aching dully to be reclaimed by its rightful owner just like always, or perhaps it’s the thought that she would hate for wendy to be alone, wandering this big and empty house.

either way, she should finish up quickly.

she looks down at the twitching body underneath her and feels nothing, bar a mild disdain. he’s just meat now, after all. raw, bloody meat.

“that’s what you get,” she tells him, disapproving, and hooks her fingers into his ribcage and pulls until the bones give way.

  
  


a state over, summer seems intent on beginning with as much heat as it can muster. the air outside is hot and painfully dry, the sun beating down on everything like a physical slap to the face.

having to drive around past noon ends up not being very fun. joy isn’t usually too affected by such things, but with the car’s air conditioner struggling to hold its own, even she’s got sweat beading at her temple by the time they find somewhere to escape the heat.

damn, she might actually have to steal another one of those soon. she likes to avoid it if she can. it always ends up causing such a fuss.

wendy sprawls out on one of their cheap motel beds, soaking up the air conditioner in silence. joy perches on the edge beside her, carefully tamping down her delight at the newly allowed closeness.

“what were things like?” wendy asks after a while, gaze lidded and lazy from the heat that still lingers around them. it makes something in joy want to snarl and gnash her teeth. “before i was here.”

“you’ve seen it all by now. it was pretty much the same.” joy shrugs. “a lot more boring, though,” she adds, after a few seconds’ consideration. 

wendy seems rather surprised to hear it.

“you think that your- your _life_, is _boring?_”

“even fucking and killing every week gets old if you _have_ to do it to get by, you know,” joy sighs. “it loses its luster. and i never realized it before, but...” her voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper. “it’s even less fun without any company.”

“i don’t understand how you do it so often. the… feeding. you’re human-born, aren’t you? human-raised. but it’s not- it’s not disgusting to you, or a chore. you enjoy it.”

wendy’s words tumble out in a rush, her face reddening like the accurate observations embarrass her, and joy understands in that moment that this was the heart of it all. what’s been bothering her so much lately, demon troubles aside.

she can’t say the question hasn’t been a long time coming, but it’s still quite a surprise to hear it voiced aloud.

“do you really want to know?” she pushes in return, dithering with a shyness she realizes she isn’t entirely putting on for show. “i never thought you’d enjoy the gory details.”

“i guess i just want to know what i’m dealing with. all of it.” a brittle, awkward smile stretches out on the human’s face. her arms move up to fold over her chest rather defensively. “i’m getting a little tired of surprises.”

“i’m a creature of instinct, same as you. i just don’t have any reason to hold mine back.” 

joy smiles down at her wolfishly. 

“you’ve had drumsticks before, haven’t you? ribs? i’m sure you’ve felt it then, that animal part of you. the one that still enjoys pulling meat off the bone.”

wendy sits up as joy does her best to spell it out for her, seeming to hang on every word. her expression is unreadable, simply an intent frown, but joy preens at the rapt focus anyway. it does feel good to be the center of her favorite person’s attention.

“the eating’s natural. i only enjoy it like you would enjoy a nice meal, if you were hungry. it fills my belly, keeps me healthy. that’s all. just the physical side of things.” her fingers drum idly on the bedsheets as she thinks. “i’m not the artistic type. nobody dies pretty. mostly ‘cause if someone’s used to having power, it scares them shitless when it’s gone. they can’t handle it. makes them scream, sometimes. makes them cry.”

“that’s your rush, then,” wendy mutters, “isn’t it. what you really like.” her voice is barely there. cautious, verging on afraid. 

suddenly this feels like an important moment. a pivotal one, even.

“well, turning the tables certainly never gets old.” joy takes a second to mull it over. it’s not something she’s ever been asked about before, and she needs to speak on it carefully. “but i think it’s what shows up in their eyes. the realization that they’re about to get their just desserts. it’s satisfying.”

her eyes drift a little out of focus as memories resurface, a hundredfold final moments blurring together into something she can describe aloud.

“there’s a power in that, you know- bringing their sins back around to them. the moment they realize they’re past judge and jury, facing down the executioner. so maybe,” she agrees, words melting down to a murmur, “if you want, that’s what you could call my_ rush._”

they’re close in that moment, faces closer than they’ve ever been. it would be so easy to close the distance.

but- she shouldn’t.

when the time is right, joy is sure she will know. things are just a little too serious now to take any risks.

she gives wendy’s round cheek a fond pinch instead and leans away, satisfied with the fuzzily confused look that flits across her face for a split second afterwards.

and then wendy moves to continue. like nothing even happened.

something in joy settles, hackles lowering. one very big hurdle is now over and done with.

“so.” wendy swallows, lips parting invitingly. her heart is beating fast, eyes a little glassy- maybe with fear. or with something else. “what do you eat, from a person? organs?”

“how scientific of you. yeah, organs.” joy snorts in tickled amusement. “livers, mostly. or hearts. they’re traditional. but i’m not picky, so i won’t say no to a nice thigh or- ”

“right. okay.” there’s now a mildly pained aggravation twisting wendy’s face. perhaps that was more of an _ask so you can tell yourself you tried_ question. “but you eat my food. and you’d buy things at the store. stuff you don’t actually need.”

“ah, my sweet tooth. my greatest flaw.” joy grins. “i just like to indulge myself every once in a while. it can help if i’m hungry, too. keeps my mind off it all.”

“so that was the reason you’d always come by on my shift.”

“sure,” joy agrees. “i needed my fix.” 

“of candy,” wendy says dubiously.

“among other things.” 

“were you looking for me? all that time, was i…” 

wendy hesitates. she’s nervous, unsure. 

but surely she has it in her to spit it out.

“was i the only person who ever saw you?” 

and there’s the little edge that joy likes to see. saying what she really means. getting straight to the point. joy rewards her with a saccharine sweet smile.

“the answer to that, wendy, depends on what you really want to hear.”

  
  


**july**

they finally end up stopping for gas at a run-down, old school little place. the pumps are small and quaint, the store beside them even tinier. everything is covered in a thick layer of dust, but it all still works well enough.

feeding joy’s ailing car gas and taking it all in, wendy finds that she appreciates it. at the very least, it’s unique. it has character.

there’s a certain point she’s reached where everything is now looking the same. gaggles of fast food restaurants clustered around highway exits, entirely too much open and empty land, and motel room after cramped motel room painted in homely shades of beige or cringey palm tree print. every little town, every long drive, the same sights are there.

if she had to live in that forever with nobody else for company, she would probably go insane. maybe joy already did before they ever met, and now wendy’s tiptoeing on the verge of joining her. 

come to think of it, maybe she actually has. becoming a charming murderer’s sidekick isn’t exactly in character of her. let alone reasonable or sane.

whether she’s unhinged or not, though, she can’t deny the truth. just about anything is a welcome change from her previous state- going stir crazy in her little glass cage by the roadside, selling snacks every night. 

the pale, raised skin of her burn scars has dwindled to about the size of her closed fist, rather than taking up her entire stomach. still nothing to turn her nose up at, but it doesn’t radiate pain on the surface like it used to. wendy gets the feeling that a lot of the magic is now happening deep on the inside.

at least she doesn’t have to constantly slather it in ointment now. she recalls the days of doing that constantly to be a real hassle.

“will it really take the rest of the year? this.” wendy motions at herself with the hand that’s not holding the pump. “getting better.”

“sure it will.” joy shrugs from where she’s leaning against the car beside her. “even after the damage is healed, you might not have enough of a reserve of energy to survive if the bead’s gone too early. got to be safe.”

“have you really never done any life-saving before?” wendy questions. “you sound very confident about all this.”

“nope. you’re looking at a real first timer.” joy pops her _p_ loudly, shifting to face her. “but what’s in you is a part of me, you know. i know it better than you ever could. i can take a look, if you’re worried or something.” 

“don’t know what else you could tell me, but…” wendy sighs, joy already reaching out for her, and allows her shirt to be lifted up. “fine.”

at the very least, joy’s eye seems to be genuinely scientific rather than hungry.

“i’m older than i look,” joy reminds her helpfully. “i know a lot of things. and i have a lot of experience with human anatomy. hands-on experience.”

for a moment, wendy imagines her knelt over a nameless corporate suit, sifting eagerly through his slick entrails. like dissecting a frog in biology class.

“i’m sure,” she mumbles. then she winces as joy prods brusquely at the mottled flesh just under the curve of her ribcage. 

it does hurt, but not as much as she expects- more like feeling pressure on a bruise.

“still work to be done in there,” joy muses. “looks like it probably ripped straight through the stomach, might have even grazed your big intestine. you’re lucky i was there, you know. a gut shot is the worst way to die.” her fingers brush feather-light over wendy’s skin as she gauges her condition. “your digestive juices leak into the rest of you. you end up poisoned from the inside.”

“fascinating,” wendy manages. something about joy’s hand splayed over her stomach makes her go hot all over, muscles tensing and breath coming short.

strange to think that in another world, the same hand might have been carving her open.

she doesn’t even realize she’s gripping the fox girl’s wrist until she tries to pull her hand away. joy’s head tilts ever so slightly, cheerful expression dropping as she stares at her intently. trying to pick her apart, as if they’re meeting again for the first time.

just as soon as the moment starts, it ends. the second time the gumiho tugs gently at her hold, wendy silently lets her go. 

“well,” joy says shortly, “you’re certainly on the mend.”

her smile returns to her face, but something about it is clipped and restrained. drawn tight, like words bitten behind gritted teeth.

  
  


neither of them miss the slowly grinding gears between them. it’s not a bad tension, exactly. nothing that seems life-threatening. but wendy gets the feeling that they’re now locked into a path leading to something. two seats on a roller coaster, heading up and up and up. 

it’s obvious that joy has an endless passion for working her up, words dancing around her teasingly. but the rest of the time she tends to handle her with care, like hiding her claws safely under soft velvet gloves. 

something strange: recently, the edges seem to be poking out. something is bothering her. making her twitchy, eager to move.

“remind me why we have to go right now?” wendy groans, shoving the last of her clothes into her bag and zipping it shut. joy just shrugs.

“early birds get to stay out of the heat,” she says, which is irritatingly sensible. wendy sighs and runs a hand through her hair as she gets back to her feet.

leaving at ungodly hours is common, especially with bigger, longer interstate drives, but it’s never easy to get herself going on a whim. it’s still dark out, and wendy can barely keep her eyes open properly as she shuffles around making sure they’re travel-ready.

on the other hand, joy seems to be enjoying herself, as fresh-faced as ever. perhaps she’s just an incredible morning person, but wendy suspects it’s mostly from eating a morally bankrupt local politician the day before.

“look alive, wendy,” the gumiho chides playfully, delivering a slap on the shoulder that makes wendy squeak in flustered surprise, but that’s the last joke she cracks before the smile falls dramatically off her face.

in the next moment, she freezes. literally completely freezes, so perfectly statue-still it’s actually a little unnerving, before her eyes dart to the door a few feet away.

“bathroom,” she says.

“what?”

“you should get in the bathroom,” joy repeats, obviously trying to sound gentle, even though the sweetness in her voice is too forced to be reassuring.

“why,” wendy starts, but joy snaps _now_ at her so hard she hears teeth click together in front of her face.

she gets in the bathroom. shuts the door behind her, just in time to hear the door to the room click open.

there are sounds. the thud of staggering footsteps, a harsh gibbering that makes her skin crawl- noise that a person couldn’t make. then… something.

if she had to put a name to it, she would guess it’s the thick sound of breaking bone. shortly, it’s followed by muffled but vehement cursing.

hearing it certainly doesn’t make her feel any safer, but silence falls afterwards, and nothing else seems to stir outside the bathroom. 

when she dares to open the door, she just stops to stare for a second. things seem rather different from about 30 seconds ago, probably because it looks like an oil can exploded in the middle of the room.

there’s a fine splatter of liquid in a line up one of the walls, a few droplets all the way on the ceiling. it seems to be something like blood, almost reminiscent of any murder scene you’d see on TV, but it’s too dark and too thick, dribbling black like tar.

the source of it is certainly the body on the floor, which wendy would have tried to avoid looking at if it weren’t for who it belonged to.

splayed limply on the dull carpet is a familiar face. the one of the woman… demon… thing. from the bar, weeks ago. it’s been almost two months since wendy last saw her awful, empty eyes but somehow she’s _here_, in their room, and- 

wendy swallows. 

joy must have heard her coming.

the gumiho is crouched over the wrung-out remains, front and hands black and dripping, almost feral. her eyes are that familiar luminous orange, nine tails splayed out tensely around her, mouth hanging open to expose razor-sharp teeth.

it’s horrific. gorgeous. picture perfect. wendy thinks about watching nature documentaries on TV- the dangerous, raw beauty of a wolf with a blood-soaked muzzle. 

such is the sight of a vixen in her element.

her eyes drop down to joy’s black-splattered front. she hadn’t noticed before, too tired to pay it much attention, but there’s a familiar pattern of colored fabric visible under the mess. orange and black and white.

“i bought you that,” she says stupidly. “that shirt.”

“i know,” joy says, face blank.

“guess i’ll have to, um. get you another one.”

“you should. that was my favorite, and now it’s ruined.” the gumiho stands, growling in annoyance as she takes in her oozing appearance. “fuck, i nicked the carotid artery. it always sprays all over the damn place.”

“right.” wendy’s voice comes out slow and thready, barely there. “this is… a big mess.”

“it is,” joy agrees, and she too sounds so uncharacteristically faint that wendy frowns. turns to look at her properly, vision coming into focus.

there’s a very human look of frozen uncertainty on joy’s face, like a deer caught in headlights. for the first time ever, she actually seems nervous. watches wendy with concern as fangs dig wickedly into her lower lip, on the verge of drawing blood.

“what do you wanna do about it?” she asks then. her tone is light, but her eyes are wide and searching.

if wendy didn’t know any better, she’d almost say the fox girl is hoping she doesn’t run away screaming.

she forces herself to look down at the demon’s body. the eyes are vacant, a thin and dripping gouge in the crookedly broken neck. in fact, everything from the chest up looks shredded close to ribbons.

this is what joy does, easily and without second thoughts- the hands that wendy has placed her life in for the last six months. what she still has six months left with.

“i think,” wendy says carefully, “we should figure out if that’s going to fit in the trunk.”

  
  


as it turns out, it fits in the trunk quite well. joy very enthusiastically offers to start snapping bones in case they really have to cram it in there, but the body ends up untouched.

thank god this is one of those places where the door to their room leads straight out into the parking lot.

the room is left in disarray as joy cleans herself up, demon blood still crusting on the floor and wall. wendy sits quietly on the bed as the sink runs, swinging her feet.

“won’t they get suspicious?” she asks once they’re both set, eyeing the crime scene with concern one last time. “call the police or something?”

“nobody would suspect this involved humans,” joy dismisses. “looks more like oil or paint than anything else. besides, cleaning people for places like these have seen way worse.”

then they close the door behind them and head to the lobby to check out. wendy grabs one last cup of shitty coffee from the place’s meager early-morning breakfast offerings, and they’re back on the road again.

since joy swears up and down that demons taste like battery acid, just eating the body is apparently out of the question. wendy has no idea what else they’re meant to do with it, given her lack of experience in murder coverups.

six months ago, she would never have imagined she’d find herself _wishing_ for human flesh cravings to solve her problems.

in the end, joy tells her to buy a shovel at a dusty little hardware store on the edge of town, and they make their way to nearest suitably empty field- which doesn’t take too long, since they’ve been meandering through the most sparsely populated area in the whole country. 

there’s not a soul around to see them. not even while joy fills in a shallow grave dug a hundred feet from the freeway.

the day is overcast even as the sun comes up, the air pressing down on them humid and heavy. there’s a thunderstorm coming, no doubt. it makes everything feel potent. foreboding.

supernatural strength has joy tearing through the ground like nobody’s business, thankfully. by the time it’s done, it’s not even mid-morning, and joy is panting lightly with exertion by the time wendy cautiously ventures over to stand by her side, examining the freshly turned earth.

it looks… pretty natural. at a glance, you couldn’t even tell there was a demon decomposing in there. that’s what counts.

“should i have helped,” wendy says, and feels a little silly when joy laughs bright and sharp at the question.

“nonsense,” she says mirthfully, leaning casually against the shovel stuck into the soil. “can’t have the lady doing any hard work.”

she’s pretty even like this, hair disheveled, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her furrowed brow. wendy didn’t know that was something that could happen to her until recently. it makes her seem a little more human, in a way. just the tiniest bit real.

even as wendy’s eyes dart away from the sight and back to the ground, the moment turns contemplative. she can feel a probing gaze burning into her as the quiet seconds drag on, both of them unsure where to start.

“you’re so full of surprises, aren’t you,” joy finally hums, sounding very pleased indeed. “look at you, aiding and abetting to the max.”

“i’m not turning it into a habit,” wendy insists. “the blood and guts can all stay in your corner.” 

she looks up, then. meets joy’s keen eyes.

“so far, i’ve been under the impression that was just the way you liked it.”

“you’re bending a little. changing. i like that too.” joy’s hand drifts up, fingers toying with the ends of wendy’s hair. “i think it’s very exciting.”

“but- ” wendy lets out a shuddering breath, not struggling as an arm sneaks around her waist. “i thought you didn’t want me to change. just the way i am, right? that’s how things should be.”

“i’m open-minded. good girl, bad girl... i’ll go both ways.” 

joy grins crookedly, head dipping down. her voice lowers to a quiet hush.

“and wouldn’t you know it, i might have found the best of both worlds.”

wendy doesn’t stop the kiss either, when it happens. it’s a soft thing, the eager sweetness of it in sharp contrast to the scorching heat of joy pressed bodily up against her.

it tastes rather strongly of mint for some reason, though. like toothpaste. 

the rather endearing thought of joy brushing her teeth just for the occasion is gone in a flash when the fox girl begins to lick hungrily into her mouth.

contact with joy has always sent heat welling up in her, but never like this. now it holds her firmly in place like a physical force, sending a shudder through her as warm fingers curl around the nape of her neck.

it’s been too long since she’s been so close to someone else. her entire body seems to turn up to eleven as curious exploration of her lips turns into something deeper and dirtier, verging on possessive. suddenly there’s no reasonable thought to be found in her head, only a howling cry for more, more, _more._

too soon, she’s rudely awakened from her little daze when pointed canines snag hard against her bottom lip. the sensation pulls a startled squeak out of her, hands flailing enough in alarm for joy to finally pull away.

she’s not sure what she expected from joy, exactly. maybe something rougher. a little more wild. it’s a pleasant surprise to be held like this instead. cradled gently, almost like something loved.

also about six inches away from a corpse cooling in haphazardly packed dirt.

“i am so going to hell,” wendy mutters despondently.

“don’t be dramatic.” joy sighs soft and wistful, like even too harsh of a sound will shatter the moment between them. “all you have to do is tell me, if you really don’t want this. i’ll never touch you again.”

internally, every fiber of wendy’s being wails in protest at the idea. fuck no. no way. but she feels too off-balance like this, burning up, barely even able to string together a coherent thought. one of her hands comes up to joy’s head, sinks easily into silky black hair.

she curls her fingers up in it right by one of those fox ears, yanking joy’s head back, and the gumiho makes this _sound_. a whine, choked up in the back of her throat.

“that,” she breathes out, voice strained, “was a very fast decision you just made.” 

the whites of her eyes show as they roll down, intent on staring even while her head is angled up and away. it gives her face this wild, unhinged look that makes wendy squirm.

but she allows it, for some reason. lets herself be held back.

she must be waiting for an answer- for her _go-ahead_, damn it. she already knows what wendy is going to say, doesn’t she. maybe that had been her goal since the very beginning, to make sure of what would happen at this very moment.

the momentary distance is enough for wendy’s head to clear, if only for a few seconds. she snatches her hand back as quick, as if burned- not too far off from the truth. 

they both shift away from each other, the gravity drawing them together switched off. after a few moments that feel like an eternity, they’re no longer touching.

“did you like that?” 

wendy purses her lips. looks up at joy with narrowed eyes.

“if i said no,” she admits grudgingly, “that would be a lie.”

“it would be.” joy smirks at her, though her usual easy composure is still unmistakably shaken. “because i can smell that you’re liking something very much right now.”

she can _smell-_ right. of course she can.

“hey.” an uncomfortable blush begins to burn high in wendy’s cheeks. “don’t say things like that.”

“i don’t see how you’re going to stop me.”

wendy gives her a look. that’s a challenge right there. bait, hoping to lead her into more.

despite how she aches to, she doesn’t rise to follow it.

“don’t worry,” she says lowly instead. “i’m sure i’ll think of something.”

  
  


**august**

the month begins with a frat boy with a history of overstepping gone unchecked. the evening that joy makes very short work of him is pleasantly temperate, cool breeze blowing through the streets as a whispered reminder of the approaching fall.

after, in the car, wendy is presented with a red-stained smile and a scrap of soggy fabric bearing his greek letters.

“thank you,” she says in mild disgust, holding the little “present” delicately between two fingers. “i... love it?”

“anything for you,” joy drawls. the words are morbidly playful, just poking fun, but wendy still averts her eyes at the sound of them. makes a face as she drops the torn trophy into the empty cupholder to her right.

a killer is sitting happily in the front seat beside her, and she’s losing her composure over a few measly words.

those words are _anything for you_, though_._ no one’s ever said that to her before. not even as a joke.

“thanks,” she repeats, and sets both hands back on the wheel.

joy dozes off for a little during the drive. wendy knows feeding does this to her- makes her sated and content, soft around the edges. most of the time it’s not even noticeable, but she knows joy’s spent the last couple of months on constant high alert. she probably can’t resist a catnap or two with it all over.

the sight is quite a rarity. kind of funny, too, the way her head lolls around with the motion of the car, face blissfully empty. wendy can almost picture her coming home from a party like this, passed out in a friend’s front seat. minus all the viscera streaked over her face, of course.

something in her aches mournfully at the thought. there was a time that all joy ever had to worry about were silly things like that. parties and hookups, what to wear on nights out. as sardonically as she always talks about those times, she was probably someone fun. someone you’d like as a friend.

lately wendy could almost swear that she’s been catching sight of that girl. there are moments when she thinks she senses a youthful innocence trying to peer out through the fox pelt thrown over her. yearning but not knowing where to start, like a kid finally let into a candy store.

it’s easy to believe that she might be dredging the human parts of joy back up to the surface. taming the fox, so to speak. a little voice in the back of her mind, the metaphorical angel on her shoulder, can’t stand the thought. tells her believing that is going to get her killed.

day by day, though, it becomes quieter. she finds herself growing reluctant to pay it any attention anymore.

  
  


even after living with someone for a good while, it’s surprising how much more you can still have left to learn about them. how different things can get after a single important moment.

like the touching. it seems as if wendy unknowingly broke some kind of dam in joy holding back an intense need to _touch_, all the time. she’s always brushing past wendy casually now, hands lingering on her shoulders, her arms, her waist. 

or she’ll just ask for it outright. will stare at wendy open and expectant, the same way a pet would push its head into your hand, or paw at you for attention.

one of the many strange things wendy now knows: flesh-eating fox spirits like scratches right behind their pointed ears. it makes joy purr, a low rumbling sound that’s decidedly not human.

at least that’s sort of cute, though. the worst is when she gets these- these _fuck-me_ eyes, sometimes, that kind of make wendy want to crawl into a hole and die. those are the days she lets joy call her _baby_ to her heart’s content. 

(if looks could kill, wendy’s lost her life many times over already.)

she has to wonder, though. if any of it really means anything, or if it’s some part of a gumiho’s nature that joy can’t turn off. maybe she just can’t help it, being the most alluring thing wendy has ever seen. 

that is her greatest asset, after all. far better than fangs or claws, or even terrifying strength, is how she draws you in. makes you foolishly believe you could have her, if you get close enough.

the afterglow of feeding is stunning in the fading daylight, thanks to another now-deceased entry on the sex offender registry. the full brunt of joy’s eerie beauty practically renders her helpless, and they both know it. 

saying she looks angelic would be ironic to say the least, but that’s the closest thing there is to the truth. 

“gonna kiss you,” joy tells her cheerfully, and leans down and does just that. 

some have the theory that kissing started like the wordless handing out of an olive branch- putting yourself out there and trusting each other to be close, telling each other _i won’t bite_. 

wendy’s never thought much of that until recently. she can finally grasp just how much that really means. maybe those people are onto something.

whenever she feels fangs pricking needle-sharp at her lips, her mind can’t help but remind her how easily they could sink in and tear them away on a whim. 

not like that’s happened so far, of course. but, the warring sensation of arousal tempered by nerves still short-circuits everything in wendy’s head. has her letting joy in without resistance, filling up her senses until she can’t think straight.

she probably has the stupidest look on her face imaginable once joy pulls away, given the smirk that forms after. something that says just how she feels- dazed and lost, a little longing. 

the gumiho puffs up proudly at the sight and slides onto the bench beside her, shouldering her way under wendy’s arm and pressing into her side as self-satisfied as a cat basking in the sun. 

this is what she likes to do now, especially when she’s full and comfortable. if there’s one thing she always wants from wendy, it’s her attention. undivided, of course, but now with a rapidly growing physical dimension.

on their route winding down through the mountains, there’s a designated scenic point you can pull into, inviting drivers to check out one more mountain view before the area gives way to endless desert. it’s got a little wooden sign, and some benches to rest on and take it in. the view is lovely, if not a bit chilly. 

thankfully, another thing wendy has learned: joy is warm. literally. there’s a sort of constant, unnatural heat to her skin, as if she’s been sitting in front of a blazing fire, but it’s pleasant. a bit like being ensnared by a heated blanket.

right now, she allows herself to enjoy it a little.

“did you know,” the fox girl tells her quietly, “we’re headed somewhere a little special soon. going to the big city.”

“are we.” a bit of surprise sparks in wendy at the thought. “haven’t driven around somewhere like that in a long time.”

“oh, your services won’t be needed like that,” joy informs. “consider it a night off.”

“oh,” wendy echoes, nonplussed. “okay.”

“i can handle the whole thing on my own. i’d rather you sit it out anyway.” joy wrinkles her nose. “it’s kind of a mob hit. don’t want you anywhere near that.”

nonplussed quickly turns into outright startled. wendy’s head turns to gawk at her in bald disbelief. “since when did you work for the mob?”

“since always,” joy says offhandedly. then she pauses. “but selectively.” she gives wendy a meaningful look. “very, very selectively.”

right. joy isn’t just strolling around shredding innocent people for a check from the mafia.

obviously.

“i just- didn’t expect you’d deal with people like that.”

“when it’s needed. i’m just one girl, of course,” joy adds. “i can’t take down every criminal in the country on my own. but even the bad guys need to clean house, sometimes. i don’t mind pruning the ranks a little.”

“i… see.”

“someone sounds a little dejected,” joy observes. “i’ll give you a participation trophy for keeping me company, alright? don’t feel like you’re missing out.”

“it’s not… why would i be missing out on murder?” wendy feels her face scrunch up in dismay despite herself, shivering a bit as joy’s lips press chastely to her jaw. “it isn’t my thing.”

blunt teeth dimple her skin ever so slightly, a playful ghost of a bite.

“you like what you do now, though. being the getaway driver. it relaxes you. i can hear it here.” joy’s hand moves, hovering over wendy’s heart for a second to illustrate. “your breathing evens out. your scent too.”

“but,” wendy protests, although it’s all bark and no bite, “i don’t- ”

“the body doesn’t lie, wendy.” joy giggles. “you’re a little vigilante in the making.”

she seems to very much enjoy the idea of wendy having budding homicidal tendencies. it’s a little unsettling. given her keen sense for wendy’s inner thoughts, she might actually be onto something.

probably best not to think about that too much.

“i don’t have the stomach for that,” wendy says instead. “to do what you do.”

“sure you do. you know what’s right, what’s wrong. and you’re a brave girl.” joy pats her waist affectionately. “you up and left behind everything, everyone you knew, for something that you knew would be better. that’s hard. takes guts.” a quiet purr rumbles in her as she sinks further into wendy’s side. “i should know. i had to do the same thing.”

there are moments where joy seems so _human_ it’s almost a little painful. she’ll say heartfelt things, and it’ll feel bizarrely out of character. like a wild animal rolling over to show its soft, vulnerable underbelly. 

wendy probably shouldn’t pay it any mind. dismiss it, even. the gumiho is a born deceiver in the stories that she remembers. a wicked, immoral temptress of a creature.

but at the same time, it all feels like something she shouldn’t take for granted.

“you should try it sometime,” joy invites. “serving justice firsthand. it would be good for you, i think.”

“nothing more therapeutic than good old-fashioned murder,” wendy mutters, and joy laughs breathy and hot against her neck. 

“precisely.”

  
  


wendy is certain she doesn’t belong anywhere near the las vegas strip. perhaps it’s a little country bumpkin of her to think so, but the whole place seems to be teetering on the verge of sensory overload.

even just where they’re staying approaches a little overwhelming. their hotel, with an _h_, good god, is joined up with a casino. wendy can’t help but stop to peer into the little maze of slot machines as they pass, momentarily ensnared by the sight of a glittering, loudly blaring world so far removed from what she knows. 

“don’t look down that rabbit hole so hard,” joy says, nudging her in the side. “you might fall in.”

“oh, i’m no gambler.” wendy finds herself smiling, slight but sheepish. “just… i should stare a little. it’s my duty, i think. being a small town nobody and all.”

“stay that way. the big city’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” joy’s arm slithers around hers, linking them together easily. “come on. elevator’s over there.”

the schedule seems tight today. even after the long drive through a seemingly endless expanse of desert, joy is launching herself right into work.

and that work involves some bond girl-style seduction, apparently.

“remember to stay right here tonight,” she reminds her, shimmying into a strapless dress wendy didn’t even know she owned until this very moment. it’s a gaudy, eye-catching thing, glittery and figure-hugging. “if you really want, i can give you the grand tour tomorrow, just- hold on. can you zip me?”

wendy obediently drags the zipper of the dress up joy’s back, fingertips just barely brushing the flawless skin. it feels almost domestic. strangely intimate to be sharing with someone she barely even knew at the start of the year.

lately, that sort of thing is about par for the course.

“it’s not anything against you, me doing this solo.” joy is placating as she turns, draping her arms over wendy’s neck to hug her close. “this isn’t just anyone. we’re talking organized crime here. if anything happened to you i might end up disemboweling the entire city.”

wendy isn’t exactly asking for an apology for not being made a homicide accomplice just this once, but it feels nice to be thought of anyway.

“okay.” her voice comes out muffled as joy effectively face-plants her straight into her cleavage for a few seconds. “i’ll stay put,” she agrees, face reddening as she draws away.

“good girl,” joy croons, mussing wendy’s hair affectionately. “i’ll be thinking of you the whole time, i promise. you and your cute little blush.” she sighs. “you’re too much for me, wendy. sometimes i just want to squeeze you until you pop.”

“oh, no thank you,” wendy denies, hastily moving to separate herself from joy’s wandering hands. “i-i’ll pass on that one. sorry.”

“your loss.” joy giggles before her… professional persona slots neatly back into place. wendy watches as she sweeps away confidently, hips already swaying in that innate, enticing way she has about her. “get some rest, won’t you? don’t wait up for me if i’m late.”

the door shuts behind her a few seconds later.

  
  


wendy never thought she’d be so happy to avoid somewhere exciting. yet inexplicably, after so long edging through small towns and outskirts of places, the actual presence of light and activity is almost unsettling. 

she’s grown used to places with a view of the highway and some chain link fence. or a parking lot, if they were extra lucky.

turning her focus inside does help her appreciate the accommodations, though. this place is definitely expensive. it’s sleek and shiny, got cushy beds and cable TV that’s actually clear on the screen. there’s even room service, with options that look good at that. 

soaking it all in on her own after months of cheap motels, wendy feels like she’s just entered the lap of luxury.

she’s a rather obedient person for the most part. she’s never had trouble doing what she’s told. but the long and blood-soaked history of joy’s latest target keeps running through her mind on repeat, and it makes it hard for her to settle into something like rest. there’s a lot of terrible crimes contained in it. some verge on the unspeakable.

is murder really so bad if the person just _sucks_ that fucking much?

her body is clamoring for a distraction, and for a meal, so wendy orders herself dinner. watches banal arguments on reality TV, eyelids heavy and belly warm and full, until she wakes up to a dark room.

and a pair of orange eyes staring straight at her.

she yelps, recoiling instinctively at the sight, before the lights flip back on and she’s greeted with the sight of joy looking down at her instead.

“hi,” the gumiho says, looking like she’s trying not to laugh. one blink, and her eyes are back to dark brown. “just got here. i thought you were asleep, so i turned everything off, but...”

“i was, for a little.” wendy’s brow furrows as she rubs at her eyes, groaning quietly at how the clock on the nightstand says it’s 3:18 in the morning. she’s never seen joy look so oddly clean right after a feeding, like she’s just walked out of a shower. or so dissatisfied, for that matter. “what happened?”

“nothing. i just forgot how disrespectful the professional criminals get. hitmen have some nasty egos.” joy scowls. “didn’t even wait a second before trying to order me around, no gentlemanly behavior in sight. just terrible. chivalry’s dead, wendy. dead and buried.”

“ah,” wendy says uncertainly, “i’m sorry.”

“the nerve of some people, honestly, i should have bitten off his- ”

“alright,” wendy interrupts, kneading at the bridge of her nose in mild agony as she catches on to the subject of joy’s ire. “i think i get it.”

“don’t tell me...” joy’s expression changes in a flash, screwing up in delighted disbelief. “you’re jealous. look at you, getting all grumpy over some lowlife mobster. you’ve changed so much.”

wendy blanches. “i’m not _grumpy!_ or- or jealous! why would i- ”

“i didn’t fuck him, so stop moping. i’ve got high standards.” joy sniffs haughtily. “just because the best way to a target’s home is through their pants, doesn’t mean i’ll let just anyone into mine.”

“not moping,” wendy objects.

“your face says otherwise.” joy makes an odd sound as she runs a hand through her damp and matted hair, an annoyed little yip that seems directed at how quickly her fingers snag in it. “what a fucking nightmare. gonna take ages to brush this out.”

“i could help,” wendy offers almost reflexively, before she can stop herself. “why’s your hair all wet?”

“used his shower.” joy snickers as she slides out of her tight dress, coming to sit on the bed in her underwear. “perks of going back to his place alone. got to keep my clothes clean and wash up after.”

“oh.” wendy rifles through their bags for the right item, trying not to stare at the sudden expanse of skin in front of her, all long, lean legs and wiry muscle. “isn’t that kind of dangerous, though? won’t it leave evidence behind, or...”

“nothing traceable to a human. even if it was, i’m technically missing, presumed dead, so. not like that will get them anywhere.” joy shrugs as wendy sits herself behind her, brush at the ready. “being a freak is nice that way.”

joy’s hair is thick and wild after feeding, and fights back admirably against being combed out. for a while there’s only silence as wendy focuses on the task at hand, punctuated by protesting whines and growls when something catches too hard in a tangle.

it actually feels quite rewarding once she’s done. wendy admires her handiwork as she sets down the brush, marveling at the velvety feel of joy’s hair, like silk cascading through her fingers.

“you’d do a better job.”

“of…?”

joy sighs, tipping her chin back and shifting until her head is lying in wendy’s lap, facing up to stare at her.

“you’d make me feel like a lady, wouldn’t you, wendy?”

at times like this, wendy kind of hates how gorgeous joy naturally is. round, innocent eyes, pouty and kissable lips. she’s melting inside just at the sight of her.

“don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbles, setting the brush down beside them. “but sure.”

“we’re both adults, aren’t we? nothing we can’t handle.” joy blinks up at her, searching. “it’s been so long, and all you’ve done is look but not touch. are you saving it for marriage?”

here she goes again, biting another chunk out of wendy’s self-restraint. sometimes wendy feels like just another member of joy’s hit list. torn open, guts spilling out all over the place. 

what’s the saying? the best way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it. but wendy has concerns. joy is a force to be reckoned with. if she allows the gumiho to consume her entirely, she might not like how she emerges on the other side.

and there’s that other thing- the deadline, four months left and still counting down, hanging over their every move, by which they’ll no longer have any obligation to each other. wendy will be healthy again. joy will take back what’s keeping them together. and then they’re both, in theory, going to move on with life.

funny how the prospect suddenly seems so hard to imagine.

“don’t push me,” wendy warns halfheartedly, a rueful smile forming on her lips. “nothing will happen if i get performance anxiety.”

“are you promising me something?” joy perks up with obvious interest. “because i’ll make sure to hold you to it.”

just to retaliate, wendy runs a fingertip down the back of one of joy’s furred fox ears. watches the gumiho shiver with little frissons of pleasure at the sensation. 

“no guarantees,” she says. joy narrows her eyes impishly. 

“that’s not a no.”

“if all you really wanted was to sleep with me, i think the last eight months might have been a little too much trouble.”

joy barks out a laugh at that, teeth flashing pearly white. “you know me,” she teases back, eyes curling into amused crescents, “i’m persistent,” and wendy tries not to think about how right it all feels, deep down all the way to her bones.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final chapter is finally here! it's been quite a while but this part ended up almost as long as the last two combined, oops. i very much appreciate everyone's patience though, and i'm thrilled to say this story has even inspired some fanart! do check it out under this twitter moment [here.](https://twitter.com/i/events/1220581015757807618)
> 
> the response to this has been beyond what i ever imagined for my strange little idea... so many thanks again and hope you enjoy the read! and psycho, when it comes out very soon :)

**september**

one nice thing about rapidly nearing the west coast is the warmth. mornings tend to be balmy and pleasant, easier to wake up to. the sky is clear today, the sun up bright and early. 

it means wendy doesn’t complain nearly as much as she normally would when joy yanks the sheets off her, pinching one of her soft, round cheeks in an affectionate wake up call. she groans, rolling away from the insistent prodding, but looks her way with a drowsy sort of expectancy anyway.

“up and at ‘em, wendy. it’s my birthday today. ” joy grins down at her. “did you know?”

“your… birthday?” wendy squints in bewilderment. “huh…”

“we’re going to get my present,” joy continues, upbeat. “come on.”

perhaps she’s laying it on a little too thick, but it’s just so _ fun _ to watch wendy’s face contort with cute, bleary-eyed confusion.

birthdays aren’t something she cares about too much, in truth. with effective immortality stretching out ahead of her as long as she’s well-fed, they’re more of a “survived another year” marker on the calendar than anything else.

on rare occasions, though, her birthday will come bearing gifts. those are good days. lucky ones. the times when she remembers to appreciate what she’s got, because connections to the supernatural actually give her something aside from this insatiable hunger.

when you do a lot of people a lot of murderous services, you also tend to pile up a lot of- not friends, exactly, but favors, here and there and everywhere in between. they can be life-saving favors, on occasion. favors that can clean up your tracks. or they can be little things, banal everyday pleasures that make all the difference anyway. 

for example, you might end up on a pack’s grudgingly accepting side after mangling a few rogue demon hunters with a grudge against poor, innocent wolves, and they may have a nice car on hand they’re happy to get rid of right when you’re in the area.

her luck is really just hitting it out of the park lately. she can’t recall a better year in recent memory. 

(part of her is certain that wendy is who she has to thank for it.)

her good mood ends up somewhat dampened by how wendy seems rather unhappy, all of a sudden.

joy hasn’t got the faintest idea why. the new ride is totally serviceable. a little battered, sure, but a good, reliable hunk of metal. the air conditioning and the heater also work a lot better, as they’ve double-checked already, so it’s perfect for sensitive little humans. their first drive has been going perfectly.

yet wendy’s expression is still marred by an inexplicable discontent as she stares out into the road.

“why are you making that face?” joy whines.

“what face?”

“like someone’s stomped on your tail.”

“what?” wendy blinks. seems to bring herself back to earth. “no, just…” her frown deepens slightly. “that guy. the one you met up with.”

joy patiently awaits her point. “yes?”

“he glanced at me when he left, and his eyes.” wendy shivers. “they were yellow. like- like a cat’s, or something.”

“a wolf’s, actually,” joy corrects amiably, only to hiss as the car shrieks to a halt, jerking her around in her seat.

“a _ what? _”

“a wolf’s eyes,” joy repeats. “that’s what you saw.” they start moving again as wendy lets out an incredulous huff.

a pensive silence falls over them as the new information seems to settle properly into wendy’s mind- no doubt, also spawning the usual ton of questions that wendy often seems to tote around to throw joy’s way.

“so… werewolves.” she nibbles on her bottom lip in thought. “they’re real?”

“we’ve been in prime wolf territory the last few months. they like all the open space around here. lets them run around without anyone paying much attention.” joy eyes her watchfully, alert for any apprehension in her face. “they’re perfectly nice, as long as you don’t overstay your welcome.”

“any other dangerous creatures i should know about?” wendy blanches immediately upon the words. “wait, no. don’t tell me anything, actually.”

“relax. most don’t really have anything against humans, anyway.” joy snorts, amused. “you’ve met the worst already.”

“reassuring,” wendy says, though it doesn’t sound like she means it. “i suppose that includes you?”

“consider it a positive.” a smirk curls up the corners of joy’s lips as she reaches a hand out, patting wendy’s leg. “you faced death down and got out just fine.”

when her fingers curl in and squeeze, nails digging into wendy’s thigh through her clothes, the car nearly swerves out of their lane for a second before veering quickly back into place.

“do _ not _ do that while i’m driving- ”

“ordering me around now, are you?” joy sighs despairingly, leaning back into her seat with hands held up in surrender. “you’ve gotten too bossy, wendy.”

“i’m just asking you to respect personal space,” wendy points out. “which you’re not very good at.”

“how long will you keep pretending to hate it?” joy giggles. “you aren’t all that convincing.”

that gets her a halfhearted scowl. “whatever.”

she always has a bit of a cooling off period at times like this, moments where she seems to work herself into a huff and draws away from joy, only looking at her out of the corner of her eye. or when she seems to think joy isn’t paying any attention.

(that’s one thing wendy still hasn’t quite learned. joy is always paying attention.)

such little fits aren’t hard to navigate. all it takes is a few hours before wendy comes around, back to leaning into every touch, fixed firmly and reassuringly in joy’s orbit. she’s just good-natured like that. yet joy can never shake the nagging, persistent thought that maybe a day will come where she just… isn’t.

odd as it sounds, the idea isn’t totally impossible. humans are fickle beings, even someone like wendy, who seems to be nothing but doting and gentle, wide-eyed concern. in this life and the last, joy had never been something permanent to anyone. just what people wanted in the short term, in the moment. never what they really needed.

assuming otherwise is a step into dangerous territory- a place that even the wiliest fox might not escape unscathed.

  
  
  


joy considers the night her element for good reason. her hunting hours are almost always in the dark, and slinking around in the shadows is what she does best. 

it helps that she doesn’t sleep, in the human sense. a need for it isn’t really built into her anymore, let alone a need for eight hours a night. she’s certain that if it really came down to it, she could keep her eyes open forever if she had to.

but, even the most hectic of beings enjoy moments of rest. joy is no different. sometimes there’s nothing like just lying down and not thinking about where her next meal will come from, or how long her next drive will take. or anything else at all. 

that’s why the motels are nice. they’re her den, so to speak. places of quiet solitude rather than constant lonely motion.

tonight, for more than one reason, she is no longer entirely alone. there’s a strange racket filtering into the room, stuttering, shrill yapping that blends together into an eerie chorus, sounding rather uncannily like a small animal getting mauled.

joy doesn’t pay it much mind. with her sharp hearing, she can easily make out the distant scuff of paws against pavement just under the shrieks, and a muffled panting along with it. not as ominous as it might seem.

much closer, though, are quickening breaths and tiny, nervous shifting from a few feet away. very different from the oblivious snuffling of sleep.

“wendy.”

she gets a quiet groan in response.

“are you scared?” she whispers, rolling herself into an upright position at the edge of the bed. the carpeted floor is cool against her bare feet.

“no. ‘m fine.” wendy’s voice is gruff, raspy with tiredness.

and definitely a little freaked out. 

“it’s _ fine_,” she still insists as joy pads over to her, sliding into the bed behind her. “i’m fine.”

“you shouldn’t worry. it’s just coyotes.” joy buries her nose in wendy’s hair, eagerly pressing against her back. being allowed this close, especially in the intimate dark of the night, is a first even after so long spent with each other. “sometimes, when they come out for food at night, they get a little loud with each other.”

“it’s not… that.” wendy fidgets, muscles tensing as joy leans into her curiously. “just thinking.”

“about?”

“your birthday. among other things.” wendy lets out a long-suffering sound at joy’s startled laugh. “don’t laugh.”

“but that was a while ago already.” a strange warmth begins to swell up rather uncomfortably in joy’s chest, right where her heart is. “i suppose you’re guilty you couldn’t get me a present?”

“or something.” 

“you can tell me.” joy hugs her tighter. it seems wendy’s height does have its advantages. like how she can wrap herself around her this easily, feel her nestled snugly against her hips. “don’t be shy.”

“i guess it’s about how i- i can’t tell.” wendy’s voice is uncertain, hesitant. she seems to not even want to think what she’s thinking, let alone voice it aloud. “if you changed me, or if i was always just like this, inside, and i didn’t know.”

“like what?”

“this. so… different. whatever is happening here, it’s-” the sheets rustle with soft, unsure movement. “it’s not right of me, i don’t think.”

“ouch,” joy sighs. “and here i thought you actually liked me.”

“you _eat_ _people_. i’m not supposed to like you.”

“interesting choice of words.” wendy’s pulse is loud in her ears. joy feels the phantom sensation of a tail twitching in keen interest at the sound, a clear stumbling into familiar staccato. “you do, don’t you. just a little bit.”

“don’t _ say _ that. you need to tell me the facts.” wendy huffs, turning around to face her and immediately ducking her head down, avoiding eye contact. collapsing in on herself. “you have to make me realize i’m crazy.”

the message underneath is surprisingly clear, a splash of cold water straight onto joy’s face. _ you’re the only one i have. you need to set me straight. _

she’s come to very much like wendy nudging her this way. always turning to her for answers, or even reassurance, which is absolutely the last thing on earth anybody should be asking her for. that’s not something wrong, is it? to enjoy the trust of another.

telling her everything she wants to know feels nice. something soft and warm and fuzzy, held delicately in her hands.

no wonder the girl never hesitates to be helpful.

“i’m not a lust demon,” joy informs. wendy is asking for the facts, after all. “it’s not like everyone is attracted to me no matter what.”

“doubt that,” wendy mutters under her breath.

joy laughs. “i don’t do any cheating with magic. your wants are all yours, whatever they are.” she lets a grin form on her lips. feels wendy jerk and curl up just a little tighter at the soft puff of her breath. “if it were up to me, i’d have you tell me everything.”

“good thing it’s not, then.”

“mm.”

for a while, there is only soft silence between them. and the distant sound of a few cars passing through the nearby street.

“how many birthdays has it been?” wendy’s voice is quiet. “how long have you been all alone?”

“i don’t keep track.” joy’s mind turns up a blank rather than a number. “does it really matter?”

“i guess it doesn’t,” wendy agrees, words gently muted. then she lifts her head. her gaze is liquid, unreadable in the dark, and joy feels a strange shock as she meets it. it seems that something potent and wild is in there, waiting. just on the verge of coming to life.

she stops thinking about any of that once wendy’s face draws nearer. the kiss is unsure, chastely close-lipped, but slow and deliberate all the same.

“happy birthday,” comes a murmur after, their lips just barely brushing. though wendy’s face betrays nothing but her usual earnest composure, her voice is breathless, almost completely snatched away. and the gleam in her eyes… 

why, it’s nothing short of thrilling. 

  
  
  


going from coast to coast in america isn’t as hard as it sounds. if you’re dedicated, you can actually manage it in about a week. joy’s done it quite a few times over, albeit at a slower pace- the eternal wandering for prime hunting grounds has taken her through all sorts of places, through all sorts of routes.

it’s been a while since she’s been around these parts, but the drive out from nevada is still just as long and empty as she remembers. it would be shorter if there wasn’t a fucking ton of thickly wooded national park to slog past, but instead it’s a bloated beast made up largely of forest and, surprise surprise, more desert.

pit stops halfway are out of the question. wendy had rather vehemently refused overnight camping, which didn’t sting _ too _ much. spending a night alone in the woods with a predatory beast? almost any creature would shy away from that thought, human or otherwise.

besides, joy is a realist. she can understand that she hasn’t wormed her way into wendy’s head on such a deep, primal level. 

not yet, anyway.

they’re drifting through the fringes of a town in the south, idly driving past strip mall after strip mall. there’s nothing stimulating about it in the least, and joy can tell it’s making wendy itch, so she’s not surprised when they take a few turns into a residential area and pull over to the side of the street there.

now this is the stuff. houses. grass, trees, some kids out playing in their driveway. even a cat basking in the sun in an open garage nearby. things that they can actually _ look _at.

“i’m sore from sitting in here for so long,” wendy says, sounding appropriately pained as she unbuckles her seatbelt and makes to get out. “gonna get up for a sec.”

“go ahead,” joy responds easily. her inhuman features are itching to emerge after a while kept under wraps- thankfully, no one is paying enough attention to notice fox ears on someone sitting idly in a car.

a comfortable quiet follows. wendy leans against the passenger side door, and joy pokes her head and shoulders out of the open window to nudge against her. they settle into simply soaking in each other’s presences, and the light breeze blowing past them.

wendy breaks the tranquility of the scene first, as she often does, huffing with muted amusement as she surveys the neighborhood. a pointed ear swivels inquisitively towards the sound.

“something funny?” joy questions. wendy shakes her head.

“nothing, really. just- for a second, i tried to imagine you living in a place like this.” she hides another chuckle behind her hand. “it doesn’t work that well.” 

“don’t rule it out so fast,” joy muses. “who knows, maybe there’s a world out there where we live in a nice little house in suburbia, with a white picket fence. and one of those little white dogs, for good measure.”

“sounds awful,” wendy says frankly. “i don’t think we’d make very good neighbors at all.”

“pessimist,” joy scolds. “we’d be great catty housewives. like, one day i’d probably break a bowl or something, and you would yell at me because you’re too sentimental, and you really liked that bowl. it would turn into a fight.” she contemplates the matter seriously for another moment. “then we’d fuck each other silly and make up.”

“wow,” wendy intones, deadpan. “domestic bliss.”

“the american dream,” joy agrees. “wouldn’t you like that? you and me, forever.”

“yeah, no.” wendy shudders, in that hilariously disapproving way she usually does whenever joy offers her an idea. “besides, it wouldn’t even be forever. i age, even if you don’t.” 

she sounds reluctant, and makes a fair enough point. but surprisingly, she also doesn’t sound furiously against the idea. excitement flickers in joy briefly, body tensing like she’s spotted prey.

“a little eternal youth is easier to come by than you’d think.” a lopsided smirk spreads across her face. “if that’s your only problem, i think we’ll be making things official in no time.”

“you sound very sure.” wendy shifts, turning a little inwards to look at her better. “what makes you think i’d want anything like that?”

huh.

the words are… challenging, certainly. barbed. but despite the sudden agitated thumping of wendy’s pulse, it’s not in a way that’s eager to hurt. only in a way that wants to be left alone. like a hedgehog, curling in on itself in fear.

joy ponders, for a moment, what wendy could possibly be afraid of. change, maybe? the thought of something so long-lasting? it would be very human of her. very understandable.

she’ll just have to bank on that being the case. hope for it, even, because otherwise, every other answer to that question eventually comes around to point right at her.

she smiles, though her ears still go flat with displeasure at the realization, obvious as it may be. “call it an educated guess,” she says lightly. “you know i’m not in the mind reading business.”

“i’m my own person,” wendy reminds her, now watching her with a dubious frown. “just in case you forgot.”

“i haven’t.” 

“i can make decisions on my own.”

“i know,” joy agrees, bemused at where this is all going.

“then stop- stop _ looking _at me like that.” wendy stomps a foot against the road in frustration. “like all it takes is some puppy dog eyes and i’ll do whatever you want, believe whatever you say. i’m not that easy.”

“what if you’re just nice to look at?” joy butts her head playfully into wendy’s side, receiving a grudging pat on the head for her troubles. “i know all that anyway. i told you that i like that about you.” she chuckles. “you don’t take any of my shit.”

a wordless grunt is sent her way in response, but the hand in her hair relaxes in a way that lets her know she’s forgiven for the moment. low in the back of her throat, joy rumbles with plain, animal contentment at the gentle scratching that begins a second later.

this- this is good. she likes this. if things wound up staying this way until the end of her days, she wouldn’t mind. would never get bored of it.

not for her whole eternal life.

  
  
  


there are many strange yet unexciting urges ingrained in humans. like staring into windows as you pass by, just to look at your reflection. they’re buried so deep and innate inside that they carry over to former humans, too- joy’s fallen into the habit, and many others like it, plenty of times.

she even finds herself doing it now, taking a moment to peer curiously at the transparent mirror image of herself in the glass in front of her. then she narrows her eyes to focus further past it, into the quiet house just beyond.

everything on her person tonight is ominous, all black down to the gloves on her hands. fitting for someone playing a grim role in a particularly ugly drama. 

woman poisons well-meaning husband for life insurance money, gets a kill order on her head from the very angry extended family. all positively awful.

she wonders what name they found her by this time. “the vixen” is probably a safe bet. it’s just the right balance of sexy and relatively normal to appeal to the ordinary folks.

(she has to admit “the interstate ripper” has been her favorite since it started, even though it has a tendency to attract weirder types.)

no hunger claws emptily at her insides tonight, and that’s a good thing. there will be no feeding for her, only a hit disguised as a home invasion. it’s a rare case, but she’ll take their sort, on occasion. if the crime pisses her off enough.

all she has to do is make it quick and grab a few valuables on her way out, just to point everyone else in the wrong way. easy. she’s done stranger things.

once, she’d been ordered to maul a swindling entrepreneur out on his weekly hike and make it look like a mountain lion did it. now _ that _ had been a specialty job.

people can get so creative when it comes to being awful, whether in the name of revenge or just purely for the sake of it. joy is inured to the human imagination’s most terrible depths by now. barely surprised by anything in the slightest.

in fact, bar momentary sparks of excitement and satisfaction, she’s grown used to feeling nothing much at all. 

the road is such a contradiction. so full of people, but so very lonely. without ever quite settling down, there’s no room for anyone else to connect with, and passing names and faces blur together into the shapeless, indistinguishable backdrop of joy’s life. she never ages, never changes. neither does anything else.

things have been so _ boring_, until now.

wendy is a quintessential human. soft and earnest, but not a saint, necessarily. she can be prone to lashing out defensively, spitting a little venom into her usual subdued words. yet she’s so simply _ nice _at her core- compared to anything else in joy’s life, at least- that it only serves to make her more fun. she’s exciting, a challenging puzzle, but also very dangerous, because whenever wendy asks, joy inexplicably obeys.

the girl’s got her on a damn leash. just rolling around for her like a lapdog.

and she doesn’t seem to care. or even really notice. instead, she acts perfectly content with them staying in their little bubble together, drifting along wherever joy’s appetite takes them.

not that joy minds, of course. she likes it with just the two of them. she gets her human girl all to herself. wendy in all her vulnerably lovely glory, soft and trusting, smelling of sleep, is all hers to treasure. nobody else’s.

never anybody else’s, ideally. if she could help it.

getting into the house is the easy part of things. executing the rest is what needs a bit more finesse. it’s got to look improvised. exactly the right amount of hasty.

joy pads carefully through the dark house to the kitchen. slides the biggest knife she can find out of the wooden block on the counter, hefting it experimentally in one hand. 

it’ll do.

the muffled heartbeat and breathing from the house’s second floor sound quick and too short, abjectly afraid. odd for someone to be awake at this time of night, but together all the signs form a very clear picture- someone terrified they’re going to get what’s coming to them.

as she makes her way to the stairs, moving on autopilot, joy ponders her personal conundrum further. wendy is, again, only human. joy has learned her tells with the same immediate ease she would learn anyone else’s. the way she’ll twitch upon a grip at her waist, the needy arching of her when their mouths press together. not to mention the sweet little sounds she makes at the slightest press of teeth.

joy still has much left to see, though. like if the pretty pink flush that always dusts wendy’s face crawls down further than just her neck. 

with any luck, she will get to find out soon.

danger is a deceptively potent aphrodisiac. even the most well-to-do person will crumble in the face of the right rush, and joy knows every sin in the book that can do the job. she’s made for it, after all: taking pleasure. stoking the fire in someone else until it burns blazing hot, then swallowing it all down for herself.

so it’s intriguing that despite her expert knowledge of human desires, how to play on them and yank them around to her every whim, wendy manages to set herself far above the rest. even resists her, insistent on taking things at her own pace.

not that joy is against that or anything. she may have a sadistic streak, but she isn’t _ vile_. there’s just something so enthralling about a proper game of push and pull. the suspense of getting closer and closer. 

the door to the upstairs bedroom creaks softly as joy nudges it open. muscles already coiled and primed for the reaction to come, she allows the woman inside to bolt out in a panic, keeping her grip just loose enough to be broken out of, and letting herself get shoved a few steps away into a wall.

it all comes to a quick end after that. she turns on a dime, clears the staircase in a few seconds and pounces, bringing her quarry down seamlessly with only a choked-off scream betraying her actions.

she realizes she’s probably a bit too distracted when she robotically brings down the knife for what has to be the tenth time, but when she stops herself, eyes coming back into focus, for a moment all she can see is wendy underneath her. the soft fall of her hair around her face, the familiar slope of her nose, the line of her jaw.

all ruined, growing stiff and cold, at none other than her own hands.

she leaps away, gorge rising with disorienting quickness as she hurls the knife aside. it clatters, the sound loud, too loud.

fuck. 

she hasn’t felt this intensely disgusted during a kill since her first as a fox. hasn’t felt this urge to run- to _ flee_, cowardly and sniveling, into someone, anyone’s gently waiting arms- for a long, long time.

but flee she does, leaving the job without its needed finishing touches. wendy looks startled to see her loping towards the car so soon, eyes round and questioning as joy throws herself into the front seat, pulling off her sticky, damp gloves.

“you didn’t…?”

“just drive.”

the car doesn’t move.

_ what’s wrong? _ floats unspoken over their heads, but joy can’t answer. she can’t. everything would surely be over if wendy knew what had flitted through her mind, even if only for a moment. what they have is tenuous, an impossible balancing act on razor-thin wire, but joy insists on holding it all together anyway.

becoming a fox made her greedier. she can be prone to strange impulses, to cravings of all sorts, and she craves wendy like nothing else. she wants everything from her. her touch, her trust, her welling-up desire. wants to see her shudder and strain and fall apart without a single worry on that ever-anxious little mind of hers.

and she _ gets _ what she wants, damn it. her blood near boils at the thought of losing it over a single stray thought. over something that’s just a result of what she is.

her predatory nature is a part of her, permanently and messily entangled with what human bits of her remain, and she’s never had reason to be ashamed of it. or to worry about what anyone would think of it, of her.

“you- ” one of wendy’s hands moves, then stops. hovers a few inches from joy’s arm like there’s an invisible wall between them. “are you okay?”

as usual, joy ignores whatever arbitrary boundaries wendy seems to have come up with today. she curls her hand around wendy’s instead, clasps just enough to feel fragile skin-muscle-tendon-bone all press warm against her palm.

“she hit a panic button,” she says, voice level, “the police are probably on their way,” and wendy’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of her head for a second before she finally scrambles to start the engine, successfully distracted.

joy had always thought herself an expert in dealing with hunger. there really isn’t much to it once you’ve lived with it long enough. she knows just how to keep it at bay with sweets, satisfy it with meat- so the position she’s in now is quite the ironic one. enough to make her want to start laughing and maybe never stop. 

how unlucky that the keening, unmanageable hunger for love is a different beast entirely.

  
  
  
  


**october**

fall is a time of change. leaves take on earthy autumn colors, and formerly green-painted landscapes begin to grow bare and still in anticipation of the winter. the onset isn’t sudden, or even particularly fast, but wendy can still catch the feeling of suspense that begins to infuse the air, just the way she begins noticing the scent of leaves rotting at her feet.

it’s no wonder that october is so intimately tied to the _ eerie_, the supernatural. with a denizen of that realm by her side, right there for any curious studying she gets the urge for, the connection becomes easy to understand. 

now also seems the perfect time for the next terrible event of wendy’s year to drop on her without warning. first there had been getting shot, then getting hunted down as demon food. whatever will happen next is anybody’s guess at this point.

thankfully, nothing too distressing has actually happened yet, other than the slight creak of her ribs when joy squeezed her just a little too tightly earlier in the week. apologies had been made, of course, and wendy had been pacified with kisses with a rather embarrassing ease, but wow.

there really is nothing that wakes her up faster than realizing the gumiho could probably crush her ribcage like a wicker basket.

they had elected to stay in this afternoon, nothing but free time stretched ahead of them. that time was also promptly reserved for making their way through their new surplus of chocolate, because joy is a menace and shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near grocery stores in october, when everyone is selling those cheap mixed bags stuffed with candy.

a _ scream _ movie marathon is playing on one of the motel TV’s grainy channels, though. so maybe it’s not all bad. wendy has never been one for slashers, but she doesn’t mind passing the time sprawled out lazily with joy, who seems oddly enthralled by the unfolding chain of murderous events.

“you seem to really like this,” she ventures, cringing at how loud the words seem amidst the rapt silence. “should we get you a mask?”

“i manage just fine on my own, thank you.” joy reaches into the bag between them, deftly unwrapping another treat to pop into her mouth. “no need for masks or big knives.”

“that’s true,” wendy concedes. “you wouldn’t need any of that stuff to be scary.”

“i see. i’m scary now?”

“i mean, of course, right?” wendy shrugs, unable to come up with much to soften the blow. “you kill people. with your hands and your teeth. that’s a lot to handle.”

a beat passes.

“now you’ve made me curious.”

“hm?”

“are you afraid of me?” 

wendy blinks. turns her head to look at her properly.

the words sounded casual enough, but one look at joy’s furrowed brow and narrowed eyes and wendy knows for sure- this isn’t just one of her one-off questions. the answer actually matters to her, unlike almost everything else seemingly _ ever. _

so she tries to consider it with all the care that it demands, the movie fading into the background. 

does joy really frighten her? she’s capable of terrible things. wendy’s seen them firsthand. in fact, she’s an accomplice to almost a year’s worth of them. but how terrible she really thinks joy is… 

that’s questionable. 

much more than she expects, upon giving it a little more thought.

when you watch a lion take down a gazelle, your skin might crawl, or you might want to avert your eyes once it’s about to sink its teeth in. how awful, some might say, if they’re particularly sensitive.

that’s just the natural order of things, though. predator consumes prey, and joy is nothing if not an apex predator. even she has to survive on something, and she does it with a conscience, strict rules she follows to the letter.

besides, there’s also the fact that despite being exactly the prey that joy survives on, wendy is still alive. more than just alive, she’s protected.

valued, she could even dare to say.

she thinks about the question one more time.

is she afraid of joy?

“well.” she scratches at her cheek awkwardly. “i really should be, shouldn’t i...”

joy seems to be trying to burn a hole in her face with her eyes.

“no, though,” she scrambles hastily to amend. “not- not anymore.” 

it’s a little nerve-wracking to utter such decisive, black-and white words, but it feels right, like the truth, and joy visibly relaxes. softening, melting, until her expression is gooey and something approximating lovesick.

“wow,” she says, lips puckering into a wide-eyed pout. “that might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

wendy’s face reddens as she huffs. “raise your standards,” she retorts, and joy coos at her and shifts closer, which doesn’t really help things much. 

“you’re so cute. i just wanna eat you up.”

“of course you do.”

wendy manages to stay impassive for a few seconds. unfortunately, it becomes impossible to hide any reaction once joy presses firmly against her side, insistent for attention like a needy cat.

“you know i mean in the nice way,” the fox girl says in a dramatic stage whisper. after a few seconds, she giggles. it’s a triumphant sound, but there is no bitter taste left in wendy’s mouth at the herald of her god-only-knows-what-number-now loss to joy. “and there goes your heart.”

“you always _ do that_,” wendy grumbles halfheartedly, but doesn’t put up any resistance as arms wind eagerly around her. “you can never just play fair.”

“it gets me what i want.” joy grins. “and i wanna make out. all. day. long.”

on the TV, the carnage carries on with vicious glee. somebody howls in pain, blood gushing as they’re gutted. 

wendy just sighs, a smile playing absently on her face, and lets joy pull her into a sugary sweet kiss.

  
  
  


there is a certain art to being a getaway driver. wendy wouldn’t claim she’s the best, exactly, but she can’t deny that experience has given her an intuition for where’s best to hide, quietly looking like she was born to be part of the scenery.

trundling through dimly lit neighborhoods at odd hours has become a regular part of her routine. on one such night, she’s already intent on tucking herself unintrusively near a house just around the corner when she realizes that she’ll have company. and a lot of it.

the rooftop nearby is completely covered in decorations of spiders. 

as the few lights outside the place reveal, there’s not an inch of roof tiling left uncovered by gaudy plastic arachnids. some of them even spill over the edge, crawling down the walls. 

for god’s sake, who on earth likes halloween this much? maybe whoever lives there is actually some kind of hideous spider-creature. it’s hard to surprise wendy with much of anything anymore.

she makes a face while she parks, cutting the engine. the mass of eight-legged silhouettes looks all too horrific in the dark, looming over the car. “do i really have to sit next to this?”

“this spot’s perfectly out of view, remember?” joy gives her a crooked smile as she slips out, knowing full well wendy can’t argue with the facts. “i’ll be quick.”

_ quick _ is a word with unsettling implications- sloppily torn flesh and wolfed-down meat. so ill-fitting for such a tranquil, homely little cul-de-sac.

wendy is well acquainted with ill-fitting things by now, though. herself being one of them. 

picturing her old life lived by who she is now has already become uncomfortable. like clothes that remind her of an ex, or have shrunken too much in the wash. something that doesn’t fit anymore, that doesn’t belong.

yet the prospect of it is still all she’s got, other than a girl who probably ranks as one of the country’s most prolific serial killers.

wendy groans, just barely catching herself from sinking her head down onto the steering wheel in confounded frustration. she’d already done that before, a couple of weeks ago, and accidentally hit the horn in the process. 

in the middle of a slumbering wealthy suburb at two in the morning. 

joy had chided her just a little for being _ silly_, as she called it- doing something that could have easily gotten people on their trail. there had even been a bit of an edge to how she’d handled wendy for a few days after, an increase in the pinprick sharp appearances of teeth and claws. but the intent hadn’t really seemed punishing.

no, it had felt more possessive, if she had to put a different word to it. trying to prove to someone, maybe to the both of them, that she’s staked her claim, and the authorities are welcome to try stepping in. if they dare.

or perhaps that’s just wendy’s wishful thinking.

she hurriedly banishes the idea of testing if it could all happen again.

even sitting in the car on her own, the gumiho seems to linger around her, clouding her senses and her thoughts. there’s a hint of sweetness to how she smells, something too subtly lovely to be any perfume or scented shampoo, and since they’ve recently fallen prey to the habit of sucking each other’s faces off like the world’s about to end, it clings to wendy’s skin with a vengeance. stains it, almost, the same way gore paints joy’s pretty face.

resisting her is just so unreasonably hard, especially considering she’s completely deranged by any sort of normal standards. it’s ridiculous that wendy can be at ease around her at all, let alone do so many things for her. quietly and innocently share a bed with her. idly think all sorts of irrational, embarrassing things about her.

anyone in her position, so obviously trusted by such a dangerous creature, would probably have put it down by now. shoved a wooden stake through joy’s heart, or something. whatever it is that actually kills her.

see, wendy doesn’t know how. she hasn’t thought about it enough to even have an idea, at least not since the one night she gave it a try out of frantic fear. she has a gut feeling that joy would easily tell her now, if only she asked, but she hasn’t. she doesn’t.

maybe that makes her a good person. maybe it makes her a bad one. she’s given up on trying to apply reason to it. this far down the rabbit hole, all she can really do is make sure her head remains firmly on her shoulders. 

whether what’s inside stays the same... that feels like something now far out of her control.

  
  
  


there are many things wendy suspects could happen on a halloween night with joy. after almost an entire year to let her imagination run wild, most of her guesses have come to involve excessive amounts of violence. or sex. or quite possibly both. joy is unpredictable.

it’s only to be expected that the thirty-first of october brings along a little performance anxiety. she’s apprehensive that day. jumpier than usual. joy notices, as she always does. blithely assures her that everything will be fine as she drags her by the arm along the sidewalk.

in the end, imagination is never any match for reality. no amount of macabre, dark overthinking could have possibly prepared her for what she’s doing now. 

the quaint downtown area of the city they’re currently haunting is abuzz with activity. there are people dressed up for halloween all over the place, everything from store-bought superheroes to grotesque latex-masked creatures.

right in the middle of it, sitting peacefully outside a local coffee shop, is joy. she’s perfectly comfortable taking up an entire little outdoor table on her own, fox tails draped languidly over some chairs pushed her way.

wendy slouches next to her, their shared drink placed between them- an extremely benign, halloween-themed hot cocoa. it had come with a few marshmallows, with little chocolate chips pressed inside to make them look like eyeballs. joy had been delighted by the sight.

it all feels so bizarrely _ juvenile _ she’s not sure how to react. half of her expects joy to reveal they’re stalking someone any moment now, yet the gumiho instead seems to be busy basking in the impressed attention of random passersby. not exactly keeping a low profile.

“sorry, what are we doing here again?” wendy says, watching confusedly as joy waves off someone staring with fascination at her pointed ears.

“i’m not the kind of shut-in who stays in on halloween night, don’t you know. there’s all sorts of naughty things i could be doing right now.” joy grins. “but i figured this would be a little more your speed. besides, i think i like this even better. look.” she motions broadly at the area around them. “isn’t it so funny how nobody cares?”

strange as it is, she’s right. the flow of costumed people around them don’t even seem to notice the genuine monster in their midst. couples, families with babies, pets. they’re all completely clueless. 

wendy can hardly believe it. surely they have to know, somehow. there has to be someone out there who feels the slight pang of alarm she once did at joy’s presence. the ominous sensation of being watched by something higher up on the food chain.

and yet there’s nothing. not even so much as a suspicious look.

so this is how a world where joy is _ normal _ would feel.

at one point, joy coos in delight as a terrier in a ridiculous little lobster costume tugs its way up to her, tail wagging eagerly as it noses at her legs.

“you’re so good with it,” wendy remarks, taken aback by how cheerfully the dog nuzzles into joy’s hands before its owners smile apologetically and lead it away by its leash. 

“what, did you think animals would be scared of me?” joy guffaws, waving a coy goodbye to the pet’s bemused parents. “figured they’d sense the evil in me, did you?”

“don’t put words in my mouth.” wendy backpedals immediately, putting on a defensive frown. “when did i ever say there was _ evil _ in you?” 

“you don’t have to say it out loud for me to hear it. and for your information, i’ve always been good with dogs.” joy lets out a breath, wistfulness flitting across her face. “even before this.”

wendy pauses. unbidden, a mental image pops into her head of joy buried in a pile of puppies, and she resists the urge to bury her head in her hands.

(something has seriously been wrong with her recently.)

despite how she aches to push, she lets the matter go. after all, their conversation now stands on the edge of a clear line she’s never been allowed to cross. there’s no bringing joy’s old life back to her, and no use trying to dredge it up either. 

instead she takes a page out of joy’s book, and spends her time quietly observing.

something about tonight sets off a pang in her chest, a sensation she can’t quite put her finger on. it’s a little like… guilt. uneasily looking at something she shouldn’t be. 

after all, it seems fundamentally incorrect that a man-eating monster should look so innocent, just the way joy does now. with a childish sort of blankness to her features, as if she’s too busy taking in the world to consider doing anything with her face.

for just a little while, the cunning fox seems gone. it’s like she’s been made a real girl again, like a fairytale, and wendy wants to- well. she doesn’t know what, exactly, but she _ wants_, all of a sudden. wants so very badly that her heart begins to race, breath coming unsteady, and she’s too slow to hold back a single treacherous word.

“joy...”

pointed ears perk up, and joy turns to look at her. at the attention, wendy droops a little. how does she even say anything without coming off as stupid? or too soft? something incompatible with joy’s rugged edges?

thankfully, there are other ways of communicating that don’t involve words.

they never act much closer than a pair of friends would in public, and even that’s a stretch. it’s just- not how they do things. so maybe that’s why for the first time, she can feel surprise radiating off joy in waves when she presses their lips together, where anyone can and will see.

the fox girl stares at her curiously once they part, questions dancing just behind her eyes.

“i- ” wendy swallows. “i want to go.”

“to talk more?”

“maybe.”

joy’s eyes narrow even as she shifts, starting to get up without hesitation.

“you’re not telling me something.”

“does it matter?” wendy laughs shakily. “i can never hide anything from you, anyway.”

“it’s about trust, wendy.” the tip of a fox tail flicks with what seems to be amusement. “don’t you think it’d be nice if you could tell me anything?”

and right there, wendy thinks, is her biggest problem of all- she very much agrees.

  
  
  


during times when you really should have known better, the lesson in question usually kicks in when it’s exactly too late. and when it kicks, it kicks with a vengeance.

desire and all its brethren are wholly joy’s domain. she navigates it instinctively, breathes it with the same ease as air, and wendy should have known so much better than to try and step into it without a plan. 

she’s lost hopelessly already. that much is clear from how her face is about one inch away from being shoved up against the door to their motel room. joy had caught onto the minute threads of her want instantly, seemed to understand what she couldn’t even put into words herself, and now she’s practically draped herself over wendy’s back. the scent of her hair wafts around them, that sweet scent combined with the mild iron tang of blood she never seems able to scrub out.

the warm weight of her is distracting, to say the least. it feels like she’s touching her everywhere all at once.

this would all be getting on so much faster if she would just let wendy open the damn door. 

wendy mumbles a curse as she just barely misses the lock on the door again, hips jerking into nothing for half a second at the warm hand kneading avidly at her chest.

“i can pick out all your little details. did you know that? a little sweetness, like vanilla... hotel shampoo. the car upholstery.” there’s an intense satisfaction to the honeyed purr in her ear that follows. “and me.”

some part of wendy immediately swoons at the thought of joy painted all over her, _ keep away _daubed in a red invisible to her eyes. 

a terrible, no-good part, of course, which has obviously let go of all sense of self-preservation. 

unfortunately, the thought distracts her just long enough for another wandering hand to wriggle past her waistband, cramming against her. her head thuds uselessly against the door as she crumples under the friction, and her watering eyes slam shut in equal parts pain and mortification when joy croons, sounding more than satisfied at what she finds. 

“what a mess we have here...”

a spineless whimper tears its way out of wendy’s mouth. she shoves the key where it belongs, finally, and fumbles with it aggressively enough to let both of them stumble into the room together.

the ambiance is strange compared to the bright, exposed feel of just seconds before. no longer is the scene around them tinted a rippling neon blue from the softly lit, fenced-in pool just nearby. there’s only one light on inside, a dim lamp pushed up against one of the walls that’s obviously on its last legs. 

cheap places like these are where people go to have affairs. when they want something that will slide off their conscience with no trouble, easily forgotten.

is that what wendy wants? maybe it should be. with joy’s touch welling up molten heat inside her, though, it’s hard to focus on what’s reasonable. hard to focus on anything with the fox girl leaning into her, pinning her down. settling warm into her lap.

some part of her tries to puzzle over how long it could have been, since joy did anything like this- something that wasn’t dispassionately fucking some lucky stranger to near unconsciousness. simply, mechanically building up to the right moment to wolf down their life force, rather than being any sort of invested.

despite the subject matter, the thought is distinctly not sexy in the least. 

“it’s been a while for me,” wendy lets slip, too intent on moving on. she had meant to start things off a little more cautious, but everything comes out in a needy rasp that makes her want to curse herself out very, very vigorously.

“as it has for me. you’re a full-time job, wendy.” the lean lines that make up joy’s body cut an ominous figure, hunched over her like a predator over prey. “i’ve got a game plan, though. haven’t you?” 

her smile at the silence that follows is big enough to be audible. 

“don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it.”

“i- ” wendy’s face burns. “i’m drawing a blank.”

“we can make that easier. how’d you like me, when we get around to it? on my back? my belly?” joy hums in thought. “on my knees?”

“stop it.” wendy can’t hold back a shudder, shoulders bunching up slightly. her hands curl up a little where they sit on joy’s waist. nails starting to dig in. “i can’t handle when you talk like that.”

“then we stop talking,” joy says simply. “i’ve figured out your choice now, anyway.”

wendy knows she has no option but to yield to her now. this is joy’s world they’re in, and if she’s her focus tonight, nothing will stop the fox girl from taking everything she wants. instead she settles for passively letting her hands creep under joy’s shirt, feeling lithe muscles tense under her fingertips, still cool from the autumn air outside. one small victory for her to claim.

joy notices, because of course she does. much to her company’s amusement, wendy freezes up in earnest when the shirt comes off in the next few seconds. only a finger poking at her forehead gets her focus to return- and loosens her almost painful-looking vice grip on joy’s waist.

“i can hear your gears turning,” joy murmurs. “your thoughts must be going a mile a minute in there. don’t be nervous.” her lips curve in a sweet, beguiling smile. “tonight can be our little secret. we could forget all about it, if you wanted.”

wendy isn’t sure if joy’s just trying to reassure her, or relishing in the act of putting on a show, saying all the right words in all the right ways. surely they both know better- they can never go back to any semblance of normal now, and she, for one, won’t be forgetting even a second of it.

playing along anyway, wendy gives her a mute nod. joy’s expression softens, turning into something that sets wendy’s heart genuinely, devastatingly aflutter.

the thing about their little infernal pact is, she hasn’t touched anyone who isn’t joy for almost a year now. she’s barely even had a moment to herself to contend with whatever… _ urges _ happen to bother her. it’s enough to drive anyone stir crazy.

out of all the thoughts that have flitted shamefully through her head, none of them had involved joy being so quietly considerate. she had always sort of assumed there would be more of an animalistic frenzy to things. running off the adrenaline high of a kill, maybe.

“tender lover” just isn’t really the first thing that comes to mind when you think “flesh-eating fox.” 

not that she isn’t enjoying it. but something in her still manages to feel almost disappointed at the soft treatment, and that disturbs her a little. has her grabbing at joy’s hands, bringing them to her own waist in the hopes of distracting herself, getting her thrills in for the night.

because that’s what this is about, she insists. just _ indulging _herself for once. not being a coward, and treating herself to wants she’s been trying her best to lock tightly away. 

never mind that that there might be more to it than just unattached, curious desire. 

while trying to organize her thoughts, wendy realizes that joy has gone still after the attempt at commandeering her hands, now surveying her intently. something about the fox girl’s gaze compels wendy to go slack and quiet. the same feeling you get when your head is hovering in a lion’s jaws, maybe. 

irrational, icy paranoia douses her for a moment. if that was too far, if she’d somehow managed to sour things by stepping out of line, it would only take one sharp move for joy to easily break her neck. just a few seconds would be enough for a pretty hand to reach out and rend her open like a sack of meat, put her in her place.

morbid as it might be, wendy knows she could do it, in theory. knows she’s done such things before. even taken pleasure in them.

“pretty,” joy breathes instead, sounding appreciative and nothing more. wendy blushes hot at the praise, the red of her face only getting brighter when joy leans down, teeth closing around her earlobe and tugging light and teasing.

“please,” she burbles, helpless, “joy- ”

“i do love it when you say my name. and by the way...” a hint of mirth reappears in the gumiho’s voice. “if you, say, secretly love being trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey, now would be a really good time to tell me.” 

wendy shakes her head frantically. joy coos at the motion, hands coming up to firmly hold her face still. 

“how vanilla of you.” she chuckles, and wendy starts wondering if she should maybe be fearing for her life a little. “don’t worry,” comes a soft purr into her ear, making her exhale shakily out against joy’s neck. “i’ll make sure you get _ everything _you need.”

that’s the moment when wendy knows she’s started freefalling, cast into uncharted territory with only foxfire’s light to guide her. the last dregs of her sanity are still screaming that this is all wrong, though, thrashing in frenzied death throes at the lack of control. scrambling to find anything that will stop her momentum, even if only for a second.

“what about you?” she bursts out. 

it actually works, sort of- the moment between them drags to a halt. joy pauses to stare at her, face stepping halfway between her usual cheshire cat grin and being openly, genuinely surprised.

“what about me?” she parrots, cocking her head.

“you want something too, right?” wendy continues. “to be- to be treated like a lady.” _ like a person_, she adds silently, because the guess feels far too intrusive, almost too presumptuous for her to voice aloud. _ someone real. _ “i can do that.”

“oh.” joy nods, understanding. “of course you can, you sweet thing. but don’t you remember? i’m only twenty-one. i’m still so young.” the look that follows is so ridiculously simpering and demure, wendy has to hold back an incredulous laugh. “and impatient.”

her amusement fades with a gasp once her shirt is roughly pulled up, nails scraping with hungry enthusiasm over the vulnerable flesh of her belly.

“that means it’s _ my _ turn first.”

well, there’s probably nobody in the world who would reject that.

wendy can’t get herself to form any responses that aren’t a pathetic _ yes _ or _ please_. so she just nods again and watches her top sail off into a corner of the room, stiffening as cool air hits her skin and joy’s warm presence draws back from her. 

not for long, though. one of her hands immediately shoots out to tangle in joy’s hair when the gumiho starts brushing soft kisses down her body. she seems utterly unbothered by the hand fisted in her dark locks, pausing only to press her lips hot and deliberate to the mark that still mars wendy’s stomach. it’s a strange, warped little starburst of scar tissue by now, looking almost like the natural consequence of the wound it came from. 

a shudder ripples through wendy at the feeling, a base, bone-deep reminder of who her life _ belongs to_, in effect. who’s responsible for her being here now.

then joy stops.

she’s silent, but obviously waiting for something. wendy nods imperceptibly, just a tiny twitch of her head that’s hopefully a strong enough signal for joy to notice. 

if her flushed skin and pounding heart didn’t already clue her in before, that at least seems to get the message across. looking pleased at the permission, joy shifts herself with purpose once more, slithering down and away onto the floor until her face is in line with-

oh no.

joy’s head comes to rest on wendy’s clothed knee, cheek pressed against it as she watches for a reaction. the innocent look she blinks up at wendy with is well-practiced, no doubt, but her burning gaze betrays her, flecks of orange glinting in it like embers.

“you’re very lucky.” a wicked grin splits across her face. “this is the part that i’m really, really good at.”

rather unceremoniously, it occurs to wendy that joy’s devious smirk is probably the last thing a lot of people have ever seen. or felt, at that- no doubt it’s torn right into plenty of crooks in its time.

but she isn’t one of those people. no, she gets to have the fox girl bow eagerly to her wants, sleek and powerful and _ all hers_, and live.

now there’s a rush if wendy’s ever felt one. the way it slams into her is vicious, leaving her dizzy, and she swallows nervously as warm hands crawl up her thighs. gleaming, dusky eyes follow the bob of her throat with keen attention.

she thinks she can finally recognize what burns in them so brightly. not hunger for her flesh, or a primitively raging desire to snuff out her life. not even the harsh clinical blandness of hospital lights, something that would prove that this has all just been a twisted, psychopathic attempt at fun.

one more look at the fox girl’s face, and she’s sure of it. even though it scares her, because it’s worse than any of those other possibilities. the kind of thing that can ruin lives, send people straight to their deaths. blind, unabashed...

there’s nothing else it can be, other than devotion.

  
  
  
  


**november**

against many of her expectations, wendy survives halloween just fine. more than just fine, actually, since joy’s innately alluring confidence translates well to the bedroom. joy’s _ everything _ translates well to the bedroom. 

it’s what follows the big 31 on the calendar that she hadn’t thought to anticipate.

she shivers. the bathroom is chilly and her damp hair and lack of clothes aren’t helping. neither is the way it’s been raining the next county over, forcing them to stop prematurely. waterlogged and blocked streets have effectively walled them off from their next destination, not to mention all the flood and landslide warnings, and the sky around them has been overcast and cloudy for days.

her body must be in better condition now, because there’s not so much as a twinge of pain from her muscles at the lingering moisture in the air. and that’s all the better, since she’s basically been trapped with a ravenous beast with this all happening. nowhere to run, or to hide.

no way to resist.

she catches her own eye in the mirror for a moment, holding her reflection’s dark gaze. despite it just being, well, her, the sight is weirdly captivating. she can’t help but let her eyes wander with the opportunity to really _ look _ at herself, in all her mundane entirety, for the first time in a while.

she’s been noticing some… absences, lately. confirming them properly under the bathroom’s white lights feels truly strange. things like the tiny scar on her elbow from skinning it on concrete in grade school, or the thin, near-invisible line down a thigh from a neighbor’s grumpy cat as a teenager- gone. all of them are gone, or disappearing.

slowly but surely, the fox bead is now scouring away every little imperfection on her body.

in a way, the strange super-healing feels a lot like a loss. those things had been a part of her all her life, a record of who she was up until this moment, and now she can never get them back.

with enough waiting she might even end up like joy, frozen in time just the same way.

what a disconcerting thought. 

(disconcerting, in that it’s not entirely unappealing anymore.)

not much else has changed, at least. someone could probably still pick her out of a lineup even if all they had was a year-old photo. really, all that’s happened is that she’s lost a bit of weight. being an accessory to murder in six states and counting can wear a little on your appetite sometimes.

wendy gives herself a last once-over- angry red lines scored in parallel along her torso, bruises scattered over her hips, just the right size and shape to be fingerprints. 

not marks of aggression, necessarily. or violent treatment, or hate, or anything sinister at all. just… excitement. from someone not entirely used to reserving her strength.

she can’t help but think it’s a little unfair, though. she comes out of all this looking like she got in a fight with a raging animal, but, as she saw a few seconds ago, joy’s perfect self is in permanent mint condition. all the aggression in the world can’t even leave a mark on her skin for longer than a few seconds.

she presses her fingers gingerly against the raw imprint of teeth in her shoulder, hissing at the sting of it. 

right. there’s also that. the whole reason she’s even here, having stumbled her way straight into the shower to clean it all off after finally working up the willpower to move.

despite how obvious the puncture marks are, it barely even hurts that much, looking worse than it actually feels. and even that’s not as bad as it looked, like, twenty minutes ago. the bleeding’s already stopped, too. maybe the magical healing fox bead in her is taking care of things before her very eyes.

but still, it doesn’t matter that it’s all healing fast. the principle is the issue- you don’t take bites out of people in situations where they, well. aren’t expected. and she’s definitely still as incensed about it now as she was earlier.

right? right.

briefly, she considers trying to wear a towel, but it probably doesn’t matter anymore. they’ve sort of seen it all at this point.

it’s been a rough week.

with a sigh, she shuffles back out into the room, intent on grabbing the clothes she had so hastily forgotten. the sight that awaits her, though, certainly presents a challenge. 

joy in the morning after needs no further explanation. her body is hidden just so by the rumpled sheets, full curves showing through in what seem to be the most tempting ways possible. her fox features are showing too, perhaps brought out by the air of blissful lethargy hanging about the room. while it’s surreal indeed to see them swelling out of her luscious but otherwise normal form, wendy isn’t as bothered as she expects. 

being desired is a gumiho’s natural state, after all. so this is simply joy in her honest entirety. or, something along those lines. whatever a more eloquent person would say.

the most pressing issue at hand is, how is she still that _ hot _ even looking not quite human? like something out of wendy’s most embarrassing dreams. if she wasn’t already sure of her complete insanity, this would be the tipping point that pushes her right into it.

she’s powerless under joy’s sultry gaze, obediently following the beckoning gesture sent her way. as she perches next to her, flexing her sore arm with a wince, breath tickles gently against her skin. that’s all the warning she gets before it’s replaced with a warm lapping at her shoulder, soft kitten licks that make her fluster and squirm.

“hey,” she protests, “gross,” and struggles rather unsuccessfully against the iron-solid arm that manages to snake firmly around her waist.

“it was bleeding a little again,” comes an objection from behind her. “i’m just cleaning up.” 

ah. it doesn’t get any less gross, really, but now it makes a little more sense. like how animals groom each other. 

it’s almost like joy’s being tender, or whatever she thinks tender is, in her mind. wendy doesn’t know whether she should start laughing or crying.

“i can’t believe,” she says reproachfully, “that you actually broke the skin.”

“sorry.” joy sounds rather smug, and not at all sorry, as she noses lightly at the nape of wendy’s neck. “you’re just so exciting.”

“it’s not funny.” wendy turns to glare at her properly, even though it’s kind of hard to stay angry at someone so awash in ethereal beauty. “imagine if that had been somewhere more important.”

“but it wasn’t,” joy points out, not incorrectly. “and i wouldn’t have. besides.” she snickers. “you _ wailed. _”

“don’t start with me,” wendy retorts, blustering, “anyone would have, if you’d decided to use them as a _ chew toy _ in the middle of- ”

a hand clamps pointedly over her mouth, pulling an undignified squeak of surprise out of her rather than any more words.

“you can just say to stop,” joy drawls, lifting her hand a second later. “why do you always huff and puff like that? like those little dogs who think they’re big ones.”

“you don’t exactly love listening to me,” wendy counters. she slides away to one of the bags on the floor, still thrown off by the feeling of joy’s hand muffling her voice. there’s a dusty pouch of first aid things in there somewhere, she remembers stuffing it in there a month or two ago. “got to get through to you somehow.”

“don’t be silly.” joy’s smile seems to fade for a second before returning back in full dangerous force. “i only lay with the willing, anyway. you don’t have to tell me twice.” 

wendy allows herself a second to bask in her win before putting her serious face back on. and the biggest bandage she can find, as well as her clothes.

“okay, then…” she stops halfway through pulling on a shirt. lets out a groan of frustration. it’s embarrassingly hard to actually say it. “i think we should stop- this. at least for a little.”

“hm. don’t tell me you were disappointed.”

“you’re just waiting for me to slip up, aren’t you.” wendy rolls her eyes, not falling for it. “no. of course i wasn’t.”

“i should hope not. people have died for thinking they had a chance at having me, you know,” joy teases, mercifully staying where she is as she watches wendy fumble her way into getting dressed. “you should be proud of yourself.”

at this point wendy is well-versed in joy’s word games, her little pushes towards the conclusion she wants to be drawn. she can see this one as well as any other: _ i gave you everything. doesn’t that move you? _

but she can’t understand it. moral misgivings aside, she can’t fathom why someone who could have anyone on earth would insist on having her and no one else. or why joy would act like this is something extra special when it’s easy, mundane and everyday for her to have someone’s body.

of course, maybe there’s one reason. but acknowledging it properly would only make this all more confusing, so wendy doesn’t. tugs her mind in other directions instead.

“i know,” she agrees shortly, a tiny smile pulling up reluctantly at her lips despite herself. “that’s- i get that. but you still can’t be sticking your teeth in me all the time.” 

_ not without warning me, at least. _

“feel free to negotiate. you could muzzle me, if you wanted.”

the part of wendy that doesn’t start melting into a puddle kind of wants to smack her.

“you’re the worst,” she says instead.

“so i’ve been told.” a soft laugh by wendy’s ear makes her twitch in surprise. she hadn’t heard so much as a footstep from the gumiho’s direction, but there’s already a hand at her face, turning her into a gentle kiss.

it feels new, for them. she’s never had anything like it before. delicate and soft, melting into her mouth. a promise of something sweet to come.

lone rays of light have just begun to poke into the room. joy’s face scrunches up as the illumination makes its way onto both their faces.

“the sun’s finally out,” she says. her voice, normally so knowing and seductive, has mellowed into something uncharacteristically subdued. “clouds must be gone. maybe we should go.”

“maybe,” wendy echoes, feeling lost, and lets her gaze linger on the gumiho’s bare, beautiful form as she moves away.

  
  
  


the rain seems to have sluiced away the polluted urban haze that hangs over everything around here. now the air has a piercing clean chill to it, and white snow shrouds the nearby mountains almost down to their scrubby bases. 

odd how even right in the middle of that winter wonderland, wendy can barely feel so much as a chill.

what’s happening today is strange. a little unorthodox. by how nonchalantly joy recounted the story, it seems to be a recurring tale- local warlock gets greedy for power. local warlock messes with things he shouldn’t. local warlock’s mind snaps like a rotten floorboard underfoot, and he flees to hole up in his fancy little compound in the mountains in an erratic, murderous rage.

of course, it can’t be allowed to continue. there’d be no telling what might happen if he made his way to a place that actually had people around, so that’s what joy is for this time. a one-girl hazard disposal team for magicians too scared to personally get their hands dirty.

wendy has to wonder when she started thinking that way, as if somehow it’s _ other _ people’s fault for putting _ joy _ in danger. like joy isn’t sudden, brutal death given a human form.

she can’t quite put her finger on when that changed.

the thought is pushed to the back of her mind by a sound ringing out from the house just nearby. it’s loud, a booming _ crack _ that even sends nearby birds scattering out of the trees, screeching in alarm.

she’s heard strange noises before. there are all manner of godawful sounds that have graced her ears by now. but this time is far too suspicious. something in her insists that it can’t wait. that joy is in serious trouble, as good as she is at handling herself.

damn it all. once the thought’s in her head, she can’t get it out.

so, wendy does the only thing that comes to mind.

she gets out of the car.

they’re parked a ways behind the place, conveniently hidden by the thick snarl of trees surrounding it. the path joy must have taken up to the house unfolds in wendy’s mind with a near instinctive ease. it’s only a short, haphazard dash through the pines before she’s faced with the back gate, a crisscross of black bars topped by blunt decorative prongs.

still locked and looking perfectly undisturbed, of course. joy probably just leapt right over it like the graceful predator she is.

wendy grunts under her breath, wincing as she grabs a hold of the frigid metal with her bare hands. the latch is frustratingly out of her reach, so all she can do is haul herself over the gate completely, producing what seems to be the loudest metallic rattling on earth until she drops down awkwardly to the other side.

a wide-open door awaits her. that’s the first thing that sends a chill down her spine.

the sight of a crime scene in broad daylight is deeply unsettling. the exposed inside of the cabin could have felt classy, once, even like a home, but now it’s in terrible disarray. things are torn up and smashed everywhere- even the walls, in a few places. everything feels heavy and wrong, down to the cracked whiskey bottle she picks up to heft nervously in front of her.

there’s no ceremony or suspense to what happens next. only the crash of a body rounding the corner of the hallway to her right, and a cold bolt of fear spiking through her as she locks eyes with the lurching, maniacal face joy spent their drive here warning her about in detail.

_ if you see this guy, you run. _

in that split second, several things manage to flash through wendy’s mind. harsh fluorescent lights, glittering dark eyes, a warm hand laced tightly with her own.

and that this was such a stupid fucking idea.

then she isn’t thinking anymore, only acting. her makeshift weapon collides with the warlock’s skull with a repulsive _ thunk_, fracturing further until only the jagged-edged bottleneck remains intact in her hand.

he starts gushing blood instantly. a few drops patter warm against her hand while he crumples from the impact, sagging over. almost in slow motion, she watches gravity pull at him insistently until he’s belly-up on the hardwood floor.

something vicious in her rears its raging head at the sight of his exposed throat. _ put him down_, it chants, _ put him down_, and she drops to a crouch, the glass shank she’s now holding raised high in the air by the time she realizes somebody is watching. 

wendy almost throws broken glass directly at the person in a panic before she recognizes her face.

some primally fearful part of her recoils at the sight of joy’s shambling steps. as the gumiho approaches it becomes clear that her torso is practically ruined, clothes shredded and glistening red. fox ears are pinned down flat and pained against her head, tails dragging.

“joy,” she starts, scrambling to her feet, “wait- ”

“what are you doing here? are you crazy?” joy coughs, sounding for all the world like a cat with a hairball. a glob of something dark splats onto the floor instead. “fuck’s sake. who even owns a shotgun in this state anymore, anyway,” she mutters, shooting a baleful look at the… corpse, now, sprawled between them. 

“what even happened?”

“someone decided to surprise me with a little hardware,” joy grumbles. “caught me in the chest with buckshot. don’t worry.” she waves a dripping hand at wendy. “i’ve had worse.”

“_ worse? _” wendy doesn’t even care that her voice lets out an embarrassing crack on the word. “you’re- ” she sucks in a breath, hands waving emphatically at the sight in front of her. “you’re full of fucking holes!”

“didn’t miss that,” joy huffs, an almost infuriating smile on her face. how is she managing to be amused when she looks like that? “don’t look so upset, wendy. at least it didn’t take my head off.” 

she raises an eyebrow, finally seeming to give wendy a proper look herself.

“you alright?”

wendy elects to stare down at her grisly handiwork rather than meet joy’s eyes. “i’m fine,” she says faintly. “not hurt.”

“i know you aren’t. otherwise i’d be painting the walls with this guy’s intestines right now.” joy nudges the body underneath them with a foot. “are you _ alright_, though? you sort of killed him before i even got the chance.”

trust her to get straight to the unpleasant point.

wendy shifts restlessly. “yeah...”

to be fair, he almost killed- okay, maybe that’s a stretch, but he attacked joy. hurt her. hurt her worse than wendy’s ever seen. her nails dig harshly into her palms at the thought, pinching painfully against the flesh.

her answer isn’t so unclear after all.

“i’m probably, uh.” she grimaces, reluctant. “more _ alright _ than i should be, i think.”

“did you like it?”

“not really.” 

(a lie. the spark of ominous satisfaction that had lit up her whole being for a moment certainly says otherwise.)

“it’s okay if you did.” joy’s bloody fingers softly tug and fiddle with wendy’s sleeve, dampening the fabric. “there’s no shame in enjoying when you’ve done the right thing.”

“but- ” wendy falters. “i don’t think you can really call murder _ the right thing. _”

“you did something good,” joy amends for her. “there wasn’t a real person in there anymore.” she sighs. “might as well have put down a rabid dog.”

though the words sound casual enough, uncaring even, a hint of remorse clings to them. a feeling of pity.

“you don’t sound too happy about it yourself.”

“because i’m not.” in fact, now joy actually sounds a little tired. “can we not talk about it? today’s already gone all wrong anyway.” the fox girl shuffles in closer, hooking an arm around wendy’s shoulders. “i think i must have forgotten my good luck charm.”

the meeting of their lips is aggressive and sloppy, overwhelmed by the wetness of blood everywhere they touch, and joy’s hands are uncomfortably sticky where they grip her face. in spite of it all, wendy still feels a strange loss when they pull apart, thinking of red smeared on her mouth, red handprints on her cheeks. it’s disgusting in a bizarrely exciting way.

“now we match,” joy utters, low and satisfied. wendy swallows down the taste of metal without wincing. wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, and looks down to discover she now looks like a gore-splattered girl straight out of a horror movie.

she’ll probably have to burn these clothes.

she feels irked, for some reason. joy is simply acting like things are _ normal_, at least as normal as they ever manage to be between them, as if wendy hasn’t gone far past the point of no return. done something irrevocable.

surely this is what the gumiho has been waiting for, all this time.

“it’s different,” wendy says, unthinking. 

“what is?”

“actually, you know.” she grimaces again. “killing someone.”

“you get used to it,” joy tells her, and maybe it’s supposed to be reassuring or something, but instead wendy bristles, hackles raising indignantly. 

“what’s that supposed to- ”

“things are not feeling great for me right now,” joy interrupts. “i need to eat. you can’t be here.”

“fine,” wendy mutters darkly, finally tossing aside the shattered bottleneck in her hand. it lands on the fuzzy carpet with a muffled tinkling sound. “i’ll go.”

“you should ask yourself why you’re upset, you know,” joy says from behind her as she makes to leave. “if it’s because you feel bad, or because you don’t.”

wendy pauses, for a second. turns around to look back into the cabin one more time. the orange in the fox girl’s eyes has dimmed, leaving them dark, wild and breathtaking, and wendy can’t bear looking into them for longer than a few seconds.

no answer comes to mind that she won’t be afraid to say.

  
  
  


things between them have become awkward. 

wendy isn’t used to it being this way. there had been some tension in the beginning, certainly, but that was mostly because she thought joy was going to eat her alive. there had also been a different sort of tension a few months ago, which was decidedly more (yet also less) straightforward. but that’s long since been resolved.

now this. they still talk to each other, sure. they can pretend everything is normal with ease, aside from a marked lessening of physical contact. but sometimes a hesitance will appear that’s never marked their interactions before. it’s like the unease of a botched first meeting amped up by a hundred. an awkward… first killing?

the whole being an _ actual _ murderer thing is also yet another agonizing thorn in wendy’s side. self-defense or not, she now has exactly one human life splattered over her hands. she can’t undo it, can’t erase it. 

joy healed like a champ after feasting on that warlock. something about the leftover magic in him, or something. if only wendy could work up the nerve to actually bring it all up to her, now that she’s all recovered. maybe then she could finally figure out how to feel about it.

because, of course, the only person she can turn to for helpful life advice anymore also has to eat human flesh to survive.

as winter starts making itself known, the sun has been going down with an alarming quickness. the early dark messes with wendy’s head, flips that instinctive switch in her that says she should sleep and hide for the day when it’s not even close to anyone’s bedtime, let alone her own.

but damn, does she want a rest. they’ve been going aimlessly for what feels like ages now, yet there are no open spaces to be found. every single place has _ NO VACANCY _ flashing out front without fail.

“i can’t believe this.” wendy groans, sinks her head down onto the steering wheel in exhaustion. “how can there not be a single free room for miles?”

“holiday rush must be starting. lots of people on their way to see their families. maybe some on their way to see their kin, or their pack.” joy hums. “could even be the weather, a little. we might have to spend the night in the car.”

wendy gives her an unamused look. “i’m not doing that.”

“surely you haven’t gotten _ prissy_, wendy,” joy says in mock disdain. “is roughing it in the back too beneath you? have the motels gotten you too used to the good life?”

“but it’ll be cold, won’t it? on a late night in november...” wendy waves a hand vaguely, flustered. “that, and- uncomfortable. all our stuff is back there.”

“there’s plenty of room for two. i’ve made things work with worse.” joy’s dismissive expression shifts to a slyly amused one. “besides, i’ll cancel the cold right out.”

“i want a bed,” wendy grumbles stubbornly, and joy laughs outright, finally relenting.

“alright, brat. swap seats with me, and i’ll get you your bed.”

the front seat has wendy drifting off in minutes, head leaning on the passenger side window. there’s just something about a car’s gentle motion that never fails to lull her straight to sleep, given a chance to sink into it.

the rest of the drive is blessedly quiet and uninterrupted- that is, until they actually stop somewhere, because joy opens the door on her abruptly and she nearly falls out of the car with a yelp.

“they’ve got one room open,” joy informs, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder that remains a few seconds longer than it needs to. “but you might not like it.”

joy is right, as she often is about wendy related things. wendy doesn’t like it. 

it’s only got one bed.

she doesn’t voice her dismay aloud. that would be rude, and she doesn’t like to be rude. but she can tell that joy notices anyway, skirting around her in what seems to be a rare show of careful courtesy.

“get yourself settled,” she says shortly, and wendy gets the uncomfortable impression that she’s watching the fox girl slip right through her fingers.

so she does something about it.

“stay.”

she tells herself it’s only logical. ironic though it may be, it’s safer for her to have joy around than it is to push her away, and besides. the gumiho is nice and warm in a way that cheap motel sheets certainly aren’t.

they end up talking, of course. she shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“you liked killing the warlock.” though joy’s voice is hushed, crawling soft over wendy’s skin, the words are blunt. without any hint of uncertainty. “but you don’t like the fact that you do.”

“you could have led into that a little slower,” wendy says faintly. joy lets out an amused breath. 

“just saving us some time.”

“i’m… uncomfortable, i guess. about how i’m reacting.” wendy stares up at the featureless, dark expanse of the ceiling. “you said you were excited, about me changing, but i’m not excited.” her brow furrows, gazing into nothing. “i’m not even guilty. i don’t feel anything.”

“okay.”

“that’s not right of me, though. is it?”

“this again?” joy blinks. “that’s all, then. you’re telling me you’re just moping over nothing?”

“_ no_.” a scowl flits over wendy’s face for a moment. “it’s not _ nothing _\- rational people don’t enjoy killing. not even a little bit.”

“so? being rational isn’t king.” she can see joy shrug, out of the corner of her eye. “people do things that don’t make sense every second of every day. it happens.”

“but they don’t end someone’s life and feel satisfied afterwards.”

“you do if it’s necessary. if it’ll save lives, save your own life. why wouldn’t it feel just as good as any other job well done?”

this situation feels familiar. yet again, wendy can’t argue. can’t find it in herself to deny that it makes entirely too much sense.

“besides, i feel like you’re forgetting something.” joy smiles, slow and just careful enough to raise alarm bells. still enough to show the gleam of razor’s-edge teeth. “you don’t have to worry about if i think you’re a bad person. if it were only up to me, you’d probably end up canonized. killing or no killing.”

“but…”

wendy falters.

she was going to say it didn’t matter. really, she was. but something in her still remembers joy’s easy, nonchalant admittance of why she so latched onto her- because she was something you could call _ good. _ and she can’t help but question what will really happen if that good in her changes into something a little different.

if joy will still want her around, still look at her the way she’s grown used to. as if she might be something a little more than just a year’s responsibility.

a hand brushes against her face, saves her from having to think of a response.

“maybe wrapping your head around what i do is still hard, for you. it’s only natural, wanting to stay away.” fingertips make their way under her chin, coaxing her to face joy properly. “i’m not for everyone. i know that.”

seemingly without her notice, dismay is written plainly on the fox girl’s face. the dim light filtering in from the window is enough for wendy to see it in the wrinkle between her pristine eyebrows, the small downturn of her pretty lips.

eleven months is more than enough time to have someone’s little cues figured out. joy doesn’t put on appearances, can’t mimic anything, let alone a complex, conflicted negative like the guilt in her eyes now. whatever is happening, it’s real. earnest.

wendy feels something yank itself around inside her. her heartstrings, maybe. it’s hard for her to ignore someone in need, and right now her intuition is screaming at her that joy needs reassurance.

the reason why _ joy _ of all people would need such a thing is beyond her powers of deduction, though. so is any sort of plan to fix it. but- that’s okay. things don’t always figure themselves out at a glance. 

even if all she can do is put a band-aid on a bullet wound, it’s still better than doing nothing at all.

there’s a scrabbling at wendy’s shoulders as joy clings to her eagerly, pulling her closer until their noses brush. she’s under no illusions about what the hands on her have done. joy has shared all manner of things with her, mostly information that law enforcement officials in every state are probably dying to know. her most rousing kills, her least favorite clients.

how she’d butchered an innocent man when she was young and delirious with hunger, still no good at hunting.

wendy conjures up joy in her mind’s eye again, just the way she did then. imagines the gaunt, sallow girl she glimpsed at the start of the year, but knocked down even more notches. eyes hollow and ravenous, bones jutting from ashen skin. everything soft and enticing scraped roughly away.

even the mere thought feels so terribly wrong, against everything she now knows.

a soft whine cuts through the unpleasant thought, and wendy stops reflecting on how joy wipes out human beings with the unconscious ease of breathing. instead, when she pulls back to meet wide, startlingly shy eyes, all that fills her mind is an urge to be good to her. 

it’s impossible to avoid the thought now- she wants to dote on this savage, baby-faced killer. wants to personally make sure she never starves again. like her usual instinct to help, to care, has been turned on its head- into something anyone else would probably call _ evil_. 

if that’s not terrifying, she doesn’t know what is. 

for a second, the look creasing joy’s features is alarmingly close to afraid, as if she agrees. wendy frowns at the strange sight, but the moment is gone before she can make chase, strong arms coiling around her into an embrace she can’t worm out of.

“good night,” joy murmurs, a familiar halting tone to her voice. she’s as warm as ever even through her clothes, and wendy’s eyelids are already beginning to grow heavy at the soft, soothing heat of her pressed up against her face.

“night,” she mumbles in turn.

there had been a time where she hadn’t quite believed in joy having a heart, even after seeing her bleed before her very eyes. looking back on it, the reason for the assumption eludes her. maybe she’d just been stuck on the oh-so-human assumption that things once dead have none of their life left in them. like vampires, or something. or zombies. 

but in this position, wendy can hear the muffled boom of a heartbeat loud and clear, the same soft beating she’s felt in snatches when they’re close, when they’re touching. she’s brushed past it at joy’s pulse points before, her throat and her wrists. 

is this what joy always hears? how she’s always gauging her. the secret to how she seems to know her so easily, inside and out. 

distantly, as wendy drifts off, she wonders to herself if she could ever know the gumiho just as well.

  
  
  


everything has slowed to a halt by the time november starts coming to a close. there have been no hunts for weeks, nor calls to joy’s little “work only” burner phone. it’s as if even murder takes a backseat to people all coming together, at least for a little.

“just wait until after everyone’s gotten together for the holidays,” joy informs, amused, once wendy voices the thought. “once the family secrets have all been gossiped around, the bloodbath will really start.”

wendy huffs out a laugh and shoves her hands further into her pockets. fog lingers around them, white-gray remnants of last night’s chilly temperatures billowing gently around them. the whimsical outline of the playground close by is soft and indistinct. fuzzy around the edges. it almost resembles some crouching mythical creature, sleeping in the mist.

everything feel hushed and empty. like the two of them are this morning’s little secret- them, and the local park they’re passing through for some fresh air.

at joy’s words, wendy finds herself struck by the fact that she hasn’t taken part in anything like that in a while. spurned away into solitude as she was, family gatherings have been the furthest thing on her mind. not thanksgiving, or christmas, or even the new year.

nobody’s even reached out to her either. like everyone who isn’t joy has now given up on her completely.

considering what she’s been doing since january, maybe that’s for the best.

as she casts her eyes idly around the fog, another thought occurs to her, and she looks at joy with renewed interest. “do you ever do anything at the end of the year?”

“you’re asking a fox if she enjoys the holidays?” joy shakes her head. “no. those things don’t really matter to me. there’s usually nobody around to make them mean something,” she adds wryly. “and nothing to celebrate, anyway. this year’s just an exception.”

“oh.” wendy draws back, abashed. maybe she should have thought that out a little. everyone joy ever knew thinks she’s dead, after all. “are you thankful for something this year, then?” she tries instead.

“you,” joy says bluntly. “what else is there?”

fuck.

wendy stops. thinks, just for a second.

“fair,” she concedes, although she can feel herself rapidly starting to fluster anyway. “that’s- that makes sense.”

“things would have been boring without you. just the same as every other year.” at her obviously ruffled feathers, joy’s eyes gleam with a cheer she realizes she’s missed. “of course i’m thankful.”

high praise, coming from someone who insists she doesn’t make a habit of owing anyone anything, let alone thanks.

it feels like something she should repay somehow, like she should be offering something as a token of her own gratitude, and wendy is overcome with the sudden urge to do something at least a little special. but, she can’t exactly surprise joy when the fox girl won’t even let her out of her sight for too long. all she can really do is make a suggestion.

with feeding runs dried up since their mountain excursion, joy’s clearly grown peckish. even just a little bit testy. it’s easy enough to tell what would make her day better.

you’re not you when you’re hungry, after all.

that evening wendy ends up watching joy devour an entire freshly bought rotisserie chicken, tearing eagerly into it with clawed hands, at the lone table in their cramped lodgings for the week.

for a moment, wendy imagines a person in its place, but only for a moment. it’s not an image she really needs right now. still caught up in the thought, she recoils as joy holds a messy hand out, offering her a chunk of warm, lightly steaming meat. 

“you’re sure you don’t want any.”

“i’m okay,” wendy repeats weakly, and joy shrugs.

“suit yourself,” she says, and pops it neatly into her mouth.

nonhuman flesh doesn’t sate joy forever. wendy’s heard enough stomach-turning stories of what she had been forced to prey on in her earlier days to know that. but as the gumiho does like to say, it’s the thought that counts. any meat is still good meat, and she’s eaten far worse. and far more raw.

“you wouldn’t eat me,” wendy says tentatively, “would you?” joy pauses mid-chew at the question, gawking at her in a way that makes her want to inappropriately giggle.

“no,” the fox girl says with her mouth half full. then she swallows, tongue swiping over her greasy lips. licking her chops. “not if you were the last person on earth.”

wendy watches fangs sink into another drumstick, ripping meat effortlessly off the bone, and fidgets a little.

“you mean it,” she probes. joy gives her a look.

“dare i ask what this is about now?”

“nothing, really. just wondering.” wendy motions with her head at the chicken carnage in front of her. “it’s hard not to, looking at this.”

“i meant what i said.” joy hesitates, a finger tapping pensively against her lips. “although if it really came down to it, i might take a bite or two…” she cackles at wendy’s scandalized face. “nothing you couldn’t heal up, of course.”

“good to know i’ve got a bright future with you,” wendy mutters in an undertone. what composure she still has is shattered by the next question.

“you wouldn’t kill me either, would you? if you ever had the chance.”

“no,” she responds automatically. her brain catches up to her mouth in the next second and starts to backpedal in disbelief. “i-i mean,” she adds, hurried, “why, why would you even say that?”

“that’s what you asked me.” joy blinks at her, the look on her face difficult to discern. “turnabout is only fair play, don’t you think?”

“but it’s still not fair, asking me that.” wendy flounders for a moment. she hadn’t expected this. “it- our positions. they’re different.” 

_ you’re meant to be a danger to me_, is what she chooses not to voice. it’s too direct, not something to be said without thinking, especially to the person it’s referring to. _ meanwhile, i couldn’t hurt you even if i tried_, which also remains unsaid, is the natural counterpart that follows. but-

“no. they aren’t.” 

joy’s voice has a strange air of finality to it. a serious, unamused flatness that makes her words begin to bounce around in wendy’s head, knocking things loose. causing chaos. 

what would it mean, for them to be in the same boat? how could that even be possible? joy is the most alive anything in wendy’s life has ever been, wild and gleefully unrestrained by anything or anyone. surely someone like her could pose no threat to someone like _ that. _

really, all she feels instead is… eroded. like joy has worn her away piece by piece, and now she’s been shaped into something totally different.

seemingly having said her piece, joy moves back to her meat, poising herself to start digging in once more. 

“i’m sorry,” wendy says, helpless, but doesn’t quite understand why.

  
  
  
  


**december**

joy wasn’t wrong about the holidays. wendy hears her get at least three calls in the first few days of december. that’s more than she’s had for the last month or so, without even factoring in the glut of fresh meat that will be coming right along in the calendar after christmas. it’s funny, in a morbid sort of way. even foxes get a holiday feast.

something that eleven going on twelve months have very clearly shown: joy seems to almost always be right. maybe it’s the supernaturally keen senses, or the deceptively large amount of years she’s already made her way through. there has to be something lending her that near unfailing intuition.

the key word is _ almost_, of course_. _ sure, she had been right in january, when she said that a year goes by so very fast. it’s only a matter of time now before everything comes to a close, days going by like sand trickling through her fingers. 

but somehow, wendy is starting to get the feeling that a year hasn’t been enough for the favor she received. the gift of life. she’s never forgotten those words. her mind insists there’s so much more she has yet to compensate for, to make right, and it makes no sense. joy’s existence, what happened to her- none of that has to do with wendy. she should not want to owe more to her, she should be desperate to escape from her clutches.

yet she finds herself dragging her feet.

regardless of how she feels, though, she can’t hide from the fact that her life force is at more than full capacity. in fact, joy informs her that it’s practically overflowing, and she can consider herself fully recovered. there’s not a trace of burns on her body anymore, either. not even the slightest blemish, except for one thing.

the bite on her shoulder has become a scar that won’t go away. 

the hairdresser noticed when wendy finally went to get her first (and last) chop of the year. swept her dark locks away from one shoulder and stopped for a few seconds, eyes widening in the mirror at what small part of it was exposed. it was one of the larger bits, where a canine tooth had pierced the skin.

wendy ends up thinking about it for hours after, that moment of shocked, morbid curiosity. would other people all wonder the same way, about where she’s been? what could have left that on her? she imagines a faceless future lover given pause at the sight of it, and a small shiver washes over her.

“are you cold,” joy says with mild concern, unreadable gaze still fixed on the scar. the pad of a finger brushes the pink, slightly raised flesh, probing. wendy feels her face go blazing hot- not that it wasn’t hot already, what with how joy has a hand hooked in her shirt collar, pulling it aside to give her a close look. 

“i’m fine.” she frowns, intent on steering them back on topic. “this shouldn’t be happening, should it? not with… the bead, or whatever it’s doing.”

“i suppose it’s because i left it. the bead wouldn’t see any need to go against its owner.” joy looks up then. meets her eyes steadily. “you know, people sometimes get haircuts when they feel like things are out of their control.”

“really,” wendy says, voice bland. “didn’t know that.”

joy releases her shirt to bat playfully at her newly short hair, fingertips just barely swiping against the trimmed ends just over her shoulders. “it usually means something is bothering them,” she continues, conversational. “is something bothering you?”

“no,” wendy responds, almost out of reflex. joy looks rather dubious.

“are you sure?”

“i’m just distracted,” wendy insists, “because of the scar.” makes sure to keep her tone level, just the right amount of troubled. “it’s weird. even after the year’s up, i’ll… always have you with me.” she rubs at her shoulder absently. “your mark on me.”

it’s not the only thing on her mind. but nor is it entirely a lie. that fact is all that keeps a stab of guilt from running through her at the act of pushing joy away. 

“scandalous,” joy murmurs, but wendy can tell from the telltale lilt to her voice that she likes the thought. “what’s gotten into you?” lips press gently just behind her ear, then underneath. teasing. “you’ve been getting bold, lately.”

“because you’re a bad influence,” she sighs out, just barely stopping herself from chasing the touch.

“you love blaming it all on me, don’t you.” joy shifts closer but takes things no further, simply nestling her face in the crook of wendy’s neck. “you’re not so innocent yourself.”

those are words wendy used to vehemently disagree with, but- she gets this persistent, nagging feeling, lately. the thought that being joy’s partner in crime for too long has changed her in strange ways, down to her very core. like maybe she’s not entirely human anymore. 

it seems a bit like a fantasy, childish yearning to be something better, stronger, more beautiful. she’s seen so many things she probably shouldn’t have, though. like yesterday at midnight, when she could have sworn she saw a massive wolf the size of a horse standing in a field, watching them pass through the nearby highway.

perhaps she’s one of them at this point, just another creature of the night. blending neatly into the background.

the idea is no longer bothersome. she’s come to accept that. if anything, joy seems to be the one who’s now troubled by _ her. _ ever since the warlock and their stilted conversations afterwards, there’s a small but palpable distance slowly growing between them, and it’s definitely no thanks to wendy. 

at least the problem unravels into something that makes a little more sense. human instinct dictates to avoid what stresses you. if wendy has that urge in spades, it makes sense that joy has a little of it left too, a tendency to put things off still lingering in that elusive, immature side of her. 

the idea of joy being on edge as she is about the new year is actually almost comforting. anything is, though, when you’re nervous with no reasonable explanation. 

see, in theory, they’ll put off talking about it until the last moments of the year. they could even just ignore it. continue on with things as they are. but, of course, that’s far too easy. instead they have this- this _ mess_, where it seems they can both tell that they’re troubled, but neither of them can figure out why, exactly. 

so they tiptoe around each other instead, no longer constantly touching the way they’ve both become used to, or insistently pushing into each others’ space. not even looking at each other for too long. 

after months of hot, hot, hot, the cold side of things feels that much more unsettling.

for once, wendy finds herself wishing that joy’s laundry list of terrifying abilities really did include mind reading.

  
  
  


“i’ll drive today.”

“huh?” 

wendy freezes with her hand on the driver’s side door. bites back the irrational urge to be snappily defensive over what’s literally nothing. she’s become a little too used to this, is all. gets a bit jarred when her norm is interrupted.

“got to check up on a few things. for work.” joy motions for the keys. “gimme.”

“work” has a rather nebulous definition, as far as joy is concerned. aside from the routine murdering, there’s a lot of checking in with people and dropping by seemingly random places, which usually look one of two ways: utterly uninviting, or so normal that the thought of something terrible lurking there actually makes them ten times worse than anything scary. most of the addresses they pass through fit the bill.

the mall they come to by lunchtime definitely does not.

the place is spacious and shiny, decked out in glittering decorations for the holidays and bustling with people. nothing about it is threatening in the least. it looks like someone took every blurry childhood memory of walking around a mall holding your mom’s hand, and made them into an actual place.

nonetheless, wendy is antsy as she obediently follows joy through the expanse of white tile. her relatively short stint as a criminal sidekick has made her more nervous than ever to be around crowds. that’s without how glaringly obvious the mall’s suite of security cameras feel to her wary eyes, too. good thing joy seems to know exactly where she’s going.

she’s instructed to “wait right outside” while joy darts into a little boutique on the second floor with _ swords _ in the display window, for some reason. despite being put up in lit-up letters right over the door, the store’s name seems to slip out of wendy’s mind the second she finishes reading it, no matter many times she tries committing it to memory.

must be a front. for what, she’s not sure, and is probably better off not knowing.

those swords looked very real, though. and very, very sharp.

the two of them share a table at the food court now, all work (and shopping) for the day done. wendy slurps her way through a bowl of steaming noodles while joy fiddles with the small, cheap phones she spent ten minutes haggling over with the hapless worker at the store. more things for “work,” no doubt.

why someone with a hilarious amount of spare assassination cash would be so dedicated to getting a bargain, wendy has no clue. maybe it’s a pride thing, or something, but it was fun to watch the two of them go at it regardless. the phone guy had lasted a surprisingly long time before finally succumbing to a one-two punch of batted lashes and a hand brushing his arm.

as wendy dredges a stray piece of pork out of her broth, a now familiar feeling hits her, so hard she can barely think for a moment- an overwhelming, alien sense of _ normalcy. _ like if she concentrates hard enough, she can pretend the two of them are no different from one of the simpering couples they’d passed earlier, arm in arm in front of the jewelry shop.

she falls into the trap of imagining it, for a second. her and joy’s faces pasted over a happy pair of lovers.

“do you think,” she says absently, still lost in the thought, “that we could have met differently?”

joy looks up from the apparently thrilling task of setting up burner phones. tilts her head attentively. “how do you mean?” 

“this is all so… conventional.” wendy waves a hand vaguely at the merry bustle around them. “i don’t know, it just makes me think. could this- ” she fidgets. “could this have been something we were a part of, ever?”

she’s thought over the question before herself. her own answer is a _ maybe_. granted, it’s a really big maybe, but perhaps if she’d done things differently, hidden away somewhere she had room to grow instead of the middle of nowhere, she and joy could have maybe crossed paths. if she hadn’t let herself grow complacent, accustomed to being miserably alone.

if joy had managed to live past her twenty-first birthday.

rather than mention any of those things, joy simply huffs. “would you have even liked me?”

the words are soured by an unexpected note of bitterness. it takes wendy aback, has her falter, chopsticks halfway to her mouth, and the hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed. joy’s lip begins to curl in a sort of _ knew-it _ displeasure before wendy speaks again.

“i would have.” once she starts, she can’t stop, words spilling out hasty and insistent. “really, i think- i think that things would be just the same.” 

a noncommittal sound is what she gets in return. it’s far from enough to pacify her, because a greed has been festering in her for a while now. greed for joy, and whatever she has to offer. and that bubbling feeling has started to react very badly to how all of a sudden, she gets the impression she’s being gradually pushed away.

“joy.”

once more, eyes grudgingly lift up to meet hers.

“i like you _ now_.”

dangerous words, those. having said them out loud, it feels like they’re now ominously dangling right over her head, like an anvil waiting to drop. but an inexplicable desperation has wendy itching to throw all her cards on the table, if only to get some kind of reaction. something that will tell her she hasn’t somehow fucked this all up.

whatever _ this _ is.

joy only gives her a meaningful look. “it’s december, you know.” 

wendy nods immediately like the good girl that she is. “i do know,” she says, cautiously obedient.

“then we’ll see, won’t we?”

“see what?”

joy actually cracks a smile at that. the sight does funny things to wendy’s heart, even though it’s wry, more bittersweet than humored.

“how much you really like me.”

  
  
  


a few days before christmas, wendy comes down with something.

she’d almost forgotten what being sick was even like- no doubt, the fox bead had also burned away any infection that tried to so much as lay a finger on her. even after so long, though, there’s no mistaking the heavy, looming ache of an oncoming fever.

when she wakes up in the morning, it’s already begun to settle ponderously into her limbs. she’s always hated this feeling. hates feeling useless and _ dull_, all energy and will to do anything evaporating into thin air.

surely her last days of this memorable year should be spent in a better state.

it all seems fine for the moment, at least. she can still drive, able to operate without looking any more tired than she usually is. so she busies herself acting like everything is normal. like she’s perfectly healthy, and there isn’t one week until she has to make probably the most important choice of her entire life.

supposed to make that choice, anyway. it’s decided, isn’t it? denying it any longer is pointless. her place is here. this is what she wants, as crazy and probably very immoral as that is.

joy seems to not notice much of anything that’s happening. not wendy’s radical self-realization, or her valiant fight against her burgeoning fever. or maybe she just isn’t saying anything about it. it’s unlike her to be so… _ unaware _ of anything, let alone of wendy.

perhaps something else is preoccupying her. she’s been asking more questions, catching wendy unawares while she’s about to sleep, or getting out of the car. odd things like _ what would you change about yourself after the new year? _ as if she’s got some kind of mental portrait that needs painting, needs every detail confirmed from the source.

funny. she sounds almost like wendy now. 

perhaps they’ve rubbed off on each other in more ways than one.

  
  
  


december 24th is when she’s caught. the fever’s refused to break by then, instead growing worse at a slow, creeping pace. wendy feels clammy all over by the time they step into their latest motel room, already anticipating the sensation of sweat beading on her back, sticking her clothes to her skin.

it’s a testament to just how hard they’re trying not to acknowledge each other that it’s taken this long for joy to say something. but, she’d have to practically be evil to not to notice at this point. especially not after wendy half-falls out of the bathroom that night, stumbling over her own feet in lumbering shock.

“what’s going on with you?” the fox girl is in front of her in an instant, and wendy just about bounces off her impossibly sturdy frame as she trips into it. it’s like running into a concrete wall.

“nothing,” she says, though it’s a weak reassurance. what else can she say, really? _ i tried washing my hands and it looked like they started steaming for a second? _ her heat-addled mind insists that would probably just push joy away further. no use in adding to the visible burden on her shoulders-

“wendy.”

“mmh?”

“maybe i should have asked earlier. why are you so…” joy frowns intently, pressing a hand firm against wendy’s cheek. “hot?”

what?

wendy stares at joy, uncomprehending. and very flustered, all of a sudden. her thoughts feel like they’re travelling through molasses.

when joy surges forward, face going taut with urgency, and pulls her into a bruising kiss, she’s taken quite off guard. in only seconds it becomes deep and filthy, joy devouring her mouth, _ claiming _it in a way that makes wendy’s knees go weak.

except a moment later they actually start to buckle, trembling worryingly at the effort of supporting her, and she reconsiders. 

it’s not just the kiss, as accomplished as joy may be at kissing- enough to make it seem like a possibility. instead, it’s something else entirely.

a full-body shiver quickly overtakes her, heat blooming wherever they brush against each other. it lances through every part of her, zapping down to her fingertips and curling her toes in pleasurable shock. helplessly, she mewls and clutches at joy’s shoulders, letting the fox girl paw at her as she pleases.

heat lingers torrid and heady within her before seeming to ebb into joy’s eager mouth, and as it mysteriously falls away, wendy’s legs give out completely. the tight embrace around her easily holds her upright as she sinks against joy’s shoulder.

a distinctly unnatural exhaustion weighs her down to her bones, but she finds herself relaxed rather than instinctively fearful. she’s okay. she’ll- she’ll be fine. 

joy has her, safe in her arms.

“delicious as always,” the gumiho croons, sounding breathless, and wendy can’t even bring herself to be embarrassed for blushing. with joy holding her close and panting hot and sated right into her ear, absolutely nobody could blame her, anyway.

“what,” she forces out, surprised the words even make it out of her mouth, “did you do?”

“fed.” joy releases her, watching with undisguised humor as she drops onto the bed in a boneless heap. “just business as usual. got a little too greedy, though. sorry,” she adds, but doesn’t actually sound apologetic in the slightest.

when wendy blinks up at her tiredly, the sight that greets her is jaw-dropping. 

there’s no way to describe it properly in words. maybe it’s the glossy luster to her hair, the newly rich sleekness to her fox features. the even healthier glow to her perfect skin. how she manages to look just the same, yet at the same time almost like a woman reborn.

whatever it is, it finally makes wendy realize- the joy that she’s been seeing for the last year hasn’t only been hungry. even at her most well-fed, she’s been... halved. part of her has been tucked away in wendy instead, and now that she’s made whole again, she seems to have become something impossible. a goddess come down to earth.

bullshit. everything she said about not being magic had to be bullshit. every last word.

more than the difference in joy, wendy can suddenly feel a new difference in herself. a welcome one.

she no longer feels like she’s melting from the inside.

“the bead,” wendy puffs, watching joy come to sit next to her. feels something in her ease at the familiar brush of fox fur against her wrist. “you- you took it- ”

“because it was burning you to a crisp. i couldn’t leave it in there.” the gumiho’s voice is scolding, although wendy swears she can hear the tiniest of trembles in it. “you must have had a death wish, not even telling me you felt a little funny.”

“didn’ wanna bother you,” wendy mumbles. her words teeter on the edge of slurring together. why is she so worn out all of a sudden? “wha…”

joy seems to understand the incoherent sound perfectly. “you’ll be fine after a few good nights’ sleep. good as new. consider that your christmas gift to me, yeah?” a hand smooths over wendy’s hair fondly. “you don’t owe me anything else. and if we’re doing gifts…”

dazed, wendy watches joy bounce away and start rummaging around for something. she looks sort of nervously agitated for some reason, like a kid actually would be on christmas morning. 

almost nothing in the world makes joy nervous, though. so what’s going on?

wendy doesn’t understand until there’s a sheet of paper thrust into her face, words printed in small, blocky letters and stamped with a barcode in a few places. _ greyhound_, reads some text at the top, capped with a silvery logo of a dog. 

she stares at the pixels of it until they blur into a little blob.

it’s a bus ticket. from the nearest station, not too far from the motel, all the way to an address in a town that she recognizes. the ride is long too, a few days of nonstop and exhausting travel starting from here. must have been expensive.

after all this time spent waiting, wendy wonders why she isn’t more excited to finally see her ticket home.

“this is for you,” joy tells her. “sorry about the bus thing.” her face scrunches up in disapproval. “i don’t really trust planes.” 

wendy takes the page in a daze. it crumples as she balls up both hands into fists, struggling to prop herself into a sitting position.

“i thought… i don’t know.” she hesitates. gathers herself for a second. “i kind of assumed you wouldn’t let me leave.”

hoped. she’d hoped that, actually.

“i see you’re still being mean to me after a year.” the gumiho doesn’t seem that offended, really, but sounds rueful enough that guilt blooms in wendy’s chest anyway. “that wouldn’t make me a very upstanding individual, now, would it.”

“i don’t understand. why are you talking like that? what...” wendy frowns, hesitating. exhaustion lends an unexpected hoarse edge to her voice, and she stops, clearing her throat just a little too loud. “do you _ want _me to go home?” she finally manages.

“have i really got to spell it out for you?” joy glowers at her with a sort of childish frustration. “we both know the saying, don’t we? the one that goes ‘if you love something, you should set it free.’ i’m just trying to do the right thing, but it’s on _ you _ to make your own life choices.” her shoulders hunch in a little. “that’s more than i ever got.”

_ love? _

this is strange. off balance. their positions have suddenly reversed, and wendy’s turned into the one on the attack. it’s her hands that have torn away at joy’s flesh, the fox girl’s vulnerable heart pulsing right against her palms.

she hasn’t got the energy for real excitement, but something else wells up steadily in its place as her confusion drains away. a sort of bewildered desperation that has her eyes round and startled.

“you got so distant,” she starts, disbelieving, “it felt like- ”

“like i didn’t want you anymore? yeah, well. i got cold feet. _ me_, getting cold feet. i couldn’t even believe it.” joy pouts. “but what if you were just too good to be playing bonnie and clyde with me, huh? what if i was imposing too much on your sweet little soul?”

wendy snorts despite the gravity of the conversation. “sorry- since when have you ever cared about imposing?”

joy lets out an indignant little _ hmph_. “i do when it’s something _ you _ care about.”

a year ago, wendy had been so sure this moment would be easy_. _something she would decide on in a split second, in a set way.

things sure have a way of never working like she expects.

“what do you really want from me?” she pushes further, unable to totally break away from caution. joy’s gaze is skeptical.

“it’s not going to feel right if you’re just doing whatever i ask you to.” 

“i’m not asking because of that.” wendy glares at her defiantly. the look is as fiery as she can manage, if not rather toothless at heart- devoid of any actual hostility. “i just want to know.” _ i need to know. _

“if you insist.” joy’s lips finally quirk up. she seems unphased by being asked to admit it. maybe she’s been waiting for this moment, too. like she seems to have waited for so many others along the way. “it’s pretty simple, though. i want to be yours.” the words flow with the ease of something well-rehearsed, erased and rewritten over and over again by the same hand. “and i want you to be mine.”

ah.

it’s like she’s been waiting her entire life to hear exactly those words.

“that’s very profound of you to say.” wendy can feel the fox girl’s expression mirrored on her own face now, just the same sly smile that’s so often incensed her in the past, because finally, _ finally_, they’re both back on the same page. “my thoughts aren’t so complicated either, actually.”

joy leans in closer, almost with bated breath. “i’m all ears.”

in that moment, it registers properly that there’s a real, tangible power in this, having her undivided attention. power like wendy has never known over anyone, or anything. she can see why the gumiho thrives off of eyes being drawn to her. how it makes her unfurl into her most beautiful, assured self.

perhaps she, too, can be beautiful. not quite in the same way, of course, it would be hard for anyone to manage that, but she could get close. being able to shine just a little brighter by joy’s side. that could be good enough. 

she reaches out, clasps one of those warm and deadly hands in both her own. joy allows the motion, gazing at her with a gently blank sort of curiosity.

after a year, it all feels far more human, like home, than she had ever thought possible. it’s funny to think that she could have once been so far off the mark, but accepting your mistakes is step one of becoming a bigger, better person, anyway. you understand what you got wrong. you learn. you grow.

you own up to the truth.

“i was yours the moment you fed me that foxfire,” she finally confesses, every second of speaking a little more weight off her shoulders, and means every last word.

  
  
  
  
  


**june**

the convenience store hasn’t changed much, even after a long time. it falls under one of the simple truths of americana: nothing endures the test of time better than scuffed tiles and junk food wrapped tight in plastic packaging. 

the fluorescent lights are still a bit too harsh, flickering ominously in the corner where they keep the refrigerated energy drinks. the aisles are still as empty as they always were at the odd hours of the morning. 

all of it is so familiar. yet at the same time, it feels like a lifetime ago since she was once part of the little place. 

wendy wanders through the flimsy shelves of snacks and debates buying some peanuts for the road- long drives always make her hungry. or maybe she should go for candy. her sweet tooth’s been raging lately.

an alarmingly audible sound comes from the gas pumps outside, a quickly stifled wail that’s a clear sign of a struggle. wendy stiffens a bit, prepares an excuse, but the girl at the counter, who looks like she’s barely even an adult, doesn’t so much as blink or turn her head. 

her face is numb with the tedium of sleep deprivation, dark circles visible under her eyes, and projects an aura of intense disinterest in everything around her. from wendy’s very presence in the store, all the way down to the shitty tabloid she’s reading to pass the time.

just too damn tired to care. wendy can empathize. she’s definitely been there before.

with that experience comes the knowledge to not even try for conversation as she pays for her innocuous purchases. instead, she watches with a somewhat sympathetic expression as the girl robotically tallies up the items.

in the end, all that matters is that her attention is elsewhere.

hopefully it stays that way. or she clocks out after this. it would be awful for a nice young lady like her to make the inevitable, no doubt very traumatizing discovery that will probably happen sometime in the next few hours.

wendy knows her time here is up when she registers movement outside again, just out of the corner of her eye. with a distraction no longer needed, she gives the cashier a polite nod and walks out the door with her crinkling plastic bag.

“all done,” joy singsongs from the passenger seat. her thin top is pulled down sloppily, blood-spattered cleavage on alarming display.

it’s a calling card of one of her favorite strategies: to seem airheaded and oblivious, unthreatening to anybody, which is of course the exact opposite of what she actually is. but wendy can’t say she’s always fine with the pretense.

“i don’t even want to know,” she sighs, resigned. joy laughs.

“i only needed to get his attention for a few seconds,” she coos. “don’t go getting jealous now. i save all the best for you.”

she gives wendy a sweet smile to top it all off, her teeth all red. what an effective summary of her, wendy thinks. deadly but so easy to love, if you manage to look past all the scarlet. it’s enough to make anyone’s heart ache. 

she breathes through the constricting flutter in her chest, and passes joy a brand new tin of mints. it clatters loudly as it leaves her hand.

“freshen up,” she says. “don’t want your mouth tasting terrible forever.”

they’d ended up tailing this one for a few hours, after he left his house for a business trip a few towns over. joy hadn’t let slip any details about the call- a woman’s voice, trembling with nerves- but whatever the crime, it was more than enough to get her on the warpath.

she tends to really throw herself into the revenge killings. wendy isn’t surprised that it was all over and done so fast. besides, the gumiho has had quite the itchy mouth in recent weeks. she’s not exactly inclined to be playing with her food.

in the past, she might have felt disgusted about letting the thought pass so nonchalantly through her head. but without fear bogging her down, she can understand it all perfectly. joy is simply turning a cruelly dealt hand into cards she can actually play. that’s all she’s ever been doing, all this time.

making the best out of an awful, awful thing.

wendy scrubs at her tired eyes, reaching around back to grab one of those tubes of wet wipes that are always lying around there somewhere. a playful growl comes her way when a few of the damp little sheets are tossed into joy’s face, but the fox girl doesn’t complain, obediently starting to work her way through the layer of gore on her face and hands.

it’s nice that joy listens to her, even about little things. it makes wendy feel important. seen, in a way no one else has ever quite managed. the same feeling that hits her when they accidentally lock eyes halfway through her absent scan of the car mirrors, and joy’s eyes squint up enthusiastically just at her presence.

“hi,” she says. wipes a lingering dark smear off the upturned corner of her mouth. 

“hi,” wendy echoes, distracted by the sight like the fool that she is. joy has a truly formidable face. the “prone to causing inadvertent traffic violations” kind. but perhaps that’s more wendy’s fault, even if she can’t help that joy is possibly the nicest thing to look at on planet earth.

something settles in her when their weary engine roars its way to life- like all she needs is a running car, an empty highway, and joy sat next to her for all to be right with the world.

who knows. maybe that really is all there is to it.

“someone put me onto this nightclub owner,” joy starts, conversational. “a few towns over. girls tend to disappear around his place. people have had enough.”

the words sound rather vague, but really, joy probably knows the fine details of every single one of the missing girls just mentioned. she’s smart, on top of savage. but these are always the most depressing kind of thing to learn about.

for the sake of her mood, it’s probably best not to press.

“alright,” wendy acknowledges, face pulling into something appropriately disgusted to match, and pulls them out of the gas station at a leisurely pace that has absolutely nothing to hide.

“they say he’s a tough nut to crack, though. even for freaks like me.” joy purses her lips in consideration, eyes going wide. “it’ll be hard to get him on his own, lower his defenses.”

“huh.” wendy can easily recognize the tossing out of bait, but not the reason for it. she narrows her eyes. “i thought that was what you do better than anyone.”

“it is,” joy agrees, “but still… i was thinking.” her face turns sly, calculating. “two pretty girls might do a better job than just one.”

wendy’s brows shoot into her hairline at that, the road ahead still deserted enough that she risks a startled glance in joy’s direction.

“wait, you’re asking me to- what, team up with you?”

“maybe.” the gumiho runs a hand through her hair coyly. “if you’ll have me.”

it feels like a proposition, sort of, except she’s getting asked out for… murder. 

wendy takes a moment to mull it over. it would be pointless to act like it bothers her that much, because it doesn’t. she’s far enough along to know that. but she’s never been the seductive type. the thought of jumping right into it is scary. and intensely embarrassing.

none of that matters in the end, though. all it takes is a second thought over the offer for it to become suddenly, inexplicably appealing. joy so easily tempts her towards everything she shouldn’t want.

and maybe there’s a bit of a thrill to the idea. sidling through the dim club to draw the target in, joy’s watchful gaze on her, maybe hands on her too. and she would be safe in those hands, so all she would have to do is try. do a good job for her, reel in her meal. 

all of that, steeped in the delight and rushing power of being wanted.

plus, who is she to pass up on a chance to make her partner in crime’s life a little easier?

“i probably wouldn’t be much help,” she ventures, still a little wary. joy smiles like that’s just what she wants to hear. 

“you worry too much. i know you’d be a natural. everyone would see you just the way i do.”

“which means?”

“you’d be the prettiest girl in the room.”

wendy rubs awkwardly at the back of her neck, warming at the praise. “well, i don’t think i could compete with you...”

“you’re the only human who comes close. but that’s not even the point, anyway.” joy’s eyes fall closed as she yawns lazily, already sinking into sated, full-bellied contentment. “we’ve never shared a hunt properly, is all. so i think we should try one out together.”

what she says rings true- the hunt, and its inevitable consequences, are the last of all things _ joy _ that wendy has yet to experience. the only real barrier left between them, which she realizes she’s not opposed at all to breaking down. joy always keeps her at arm’s length away from them, probably out of some lingering, unreasonable fear of scaring her off. remnants of when they were both a little less certain.

as if anything could possibly get rid of her at this point.

but inviting her to it means that she’s finally ready to move past it. they’ll have seen all of each other in every way, then. be at the closest they ever have been.

fuck, she wants in. really, really badly. 

“that’s your idea of couples’ bonding.” she huffs, amused. “you’re such a crazy girl.”

“so i’ve been told.” one dark eye pops open to watch her with equally good-natured mirth. “but you’re not much better, are you. since you happen to like them a little crazy.”

“i like you,” wendy corrects. “there’s a difference.”

“oh...” joy sighs. “i can’t keep up my fearsome reputation with you saying things like that.”

it had taken a while, getting used to saying it out loud. even now, she can’t say she’s ready to utter words that go any further, although she’s certain joy is very eager to hear them. the warmth of the moment is lingering and pleasant, at least. free of pressure, the same as everything else between them.

besides, whether she says the magic words or not, she knows that joy won’t ever leave her alone.

“so.” a damp but clean hand pokes at her shoulder after a few minutes of silence. “i haven’t heard a real answer yet.”

“uh huh.”

“it’s fine if you’re not into it, but- ” 

“joy,” wendy interrupts, not unkindly. “you should have more faith in me.”

“i thought it would be _ nice _ to not force you to do anything you don’t want to,” joy sniffs, looking peeved at the implication. “i’ve got plenty of faith in you.”

“it _ is _ nice. it’s very accommodating. just...” wendy runs a hand through her hair, sheepish gaze drifting to the passenger seat again. “i never actually said i didn’t want to.”

“oh?”

a beat passes.

it takes a couple more seconds for it to sink in, but joy’s eyes soon widen with ill-concealed delight, and a familiar grin begins to split across her face. 

“well, happy hunting to the both of us, then.”

a gleeful laugh bursts out of her upon uttering the words, and the sound is bright, sharp and beautiful, like a shard of stained glass gleaming in the sun. 

that’s the thing about all this, anyway. what’s a long life if you don’t fill it up with things that are really worthwhile? joy has her one-of-a-kind purpose, what she can happily while away the rest of forever doing. what wendy has, what she’s been _ given_, offered on a silver platter, is the privilege of being allowed to share it.

pretty hard to say no to that.

besides, if it doesn’t go quite perfectly the first time, she can always try again. and again, and again, and again, until her heart’s content.

they both have plenty of time, after all.

wendy finally smiles back, wicked and genuine. with her teeth. 

“it’s a date.”

all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _she'll only come out at night_
> 
> _the lean and hungry type_
> 
> _nothing new, i've seen her here before_
> 
> _watching and waiting, ooh, she's sitting with you, but her eyes are on the door_
> 
> \-- [maneater - hall & oates](https://youtu.be/yRYFKcMa_Ek)


End file.
